And we will have picnics. Hold hands and listen to the two rivers meet, and over that soft rustling we’ll whisper secrets about our future to one another. High above the convergence, a single syllable we both placed marks a spot where once upon a time we shared a magical night.
Old fears die hard, but they die just the same. Make plans like gravity fails in the night, tie ourselves together like we’ll take flight.
I had a dream last night about the end of the world. The sky was falling in fireballs and buildings crumbled left and right around us. I wasn’t afraid, because you were holding my hand, and said you’d love me until the end of our days.