Tell Me

Tell me. 

Will you still be there to celebrate my 35th? 

When I'll be whining about my descending youth and long hour jobs. 

Because I'll buy a rose for you on every birthday. 

Tell me would that uneventful date in july still will mean something to you 

Tell me. 

Will you sing for me? 

When the world brings me down on my knees, will you pick me up with your strings? 

Because every poem I'll ever write will be of you, for you. 

Tell me would you still look in my eye and sing from your soul for me? 

Tell me. 

Will you still want to spend weeks with me crumpled in my old apartment? 

With no one around except my same old face? 

With people having the time of their lives outside? 

Because my idea of living life will be seeing you grow old. 

Noticing every new wrinkle and blemish that surfaces on you with time. 

Tell me, would you still not get bored of kissing me? 

Tell me. 

Will you remember me when you travel the world alone? 

Wondering if I'd be with you to see the beauty this world has to offer? 

Even when you have exciting strangers with wonderful stories around you? 

Because I will send you a postcard from the top of Eiffel Tower. 

Tell me, would you look for my faces in the crowd? 

Tell me. Will you buy flowers for me? 

Even when the ones you got me before died a week ago? 

Because I'll still go to shopping malls and buy blue dresses. 

Tell me, would you still find my smile? 

Tell me.