36/47

Here's a poem I wrote. Please like it, and like me better for writing it.

I am ten years old

You do not yet exist

Except, somewhere, I suppose,

in a way, in a sense, in utero

But no girls exist, at this point, to this nerd

My hair is quite foolish

And I have no way with words

I am sixteen years old

And in love. So I think. So I hope

Not with you. You are five.

And 200 miles on the other side of the sea

I should stress that the “five years old” thing would have been a deal breaker anyway

But my love is not great at this point

I’m a fool

You’ve dodged quite the bullet

Oblivious, as you go to primary school

I am 26 years old

I’m trying to write songs

About love and desire

When it sparks, when it goes

And the bit in between that I can’t quite compose

The bit that I’m trying to find, I suppose

The words are OK, though they never quite rest

On the subject

Trying too hard to rhyme

Trying too hard to capture a moment of time

While you’re 15 and listening to Kylie Minogue

I am 34 years old

And one night you are there

In a pub, in my town,

In my life, in a chair

And you’re funny and quick

And I’m a little bit taken

By your smile and your eyes and your voice and your hair

And I know that I like you

As you instantly start taking the mick

I am 47 years old

And I’m cold, and I’m warm

And I’ve given up trying to find words for the stuff

That it means to be with you

For the love that goes on as we move, without fuss

Through this thing that no language can ever define

Though you’ll see I’m too stubborn to completely stop trying

I’m just happy I’m with you

It is great. It’s enough.

There’s only one word that we need.

And that’s “us.”