And our hands they might age / And our bodies will change / But we’ll still be the same / As we are.
prompted by hardythehermitcrab - thanks!
How long are you going to stay with me?
He watches her breathe—in, out—and it’s so much slower than when they’re running side-by-side, hand-in-hand, and he can feel the pulse of her single heart through her touch—palm-to-palm.
They haven’t stopped running, but when his leg is acting up, their morning jog through the park is more of a brisk walk. Neither of them minds. Sometimes they pick up breakfast on the way and stop at a bench to eat. Young couples smile at them on the way past. Sometimes he hears what they say—they’re adorable: I hope we look like that when we’re older—and it makes him smile, too.
Her hair tickles his arm; he pushes it back, revealing the part of her face it had been covering up. He can’t help it: he leans forward and kisses her nose. She mumbles in her sleep.
After all these years, she’s still beautiful. Her radiant smile has etched deep lines into her skin; she gave up complaining about them years ago. She still dyes her hair (her natural brown, now, rather than blonde) but she’s stopped wearing makeup. She doesn’t miss it: her eyes are as bright as ever.
He watches her breathe—in, out—and it’s so much slower than it is when they’re running hand in hand and he can feel his own single heart pounding in his chest. After a while, his breathing slows to match hers and he falls asleep at her side.
You’ll grow old at the same time as me?