44 months Doesn’t seem so long Not so scary. I still love our song. As Fitzgerald put it You’re my green light. You’re my shooting star Not just in the night. Times can get hard
Sitting in the grass where we were sat, outline of the blanket barely disappeared, the light catches a smile, at my expense. Kisses, fingers interlocked, the touch of your skin,
I live in a city, of mysterious corners, strange moods, and arty streets. The lights twinkle above me, spreading a smile across my face, in the distance I can see, the sea. Hands held,