Today my snoring brings you sleep.
Tomorrow it will strangle you.
The things we find endearing now
Will soon become enraging too.
The goofy will seem juvenile,
The cuteness, immaturity.
The chilling, irresponsible,
The I-love-yous, a travesty.
We’ll squabble over space and time.
We’ll disagree on what we said.
We’ll sleep in different rooms, unsure
Who’ll make the bed, who’ll make the bread.
In all of this, the only thing,
Together, we can keep the same:
No matter what the outcomes are,
It’s you and I who’ll play the game.