You’ll take away my grey hair, you will. Magically. Replace each one with the perfect shade of pink champagne. And I’ll be sixty like that. And smiling big from our gentle conversations.

You’ll have my willing green eyes, you will. Automatically. Value simple bike rides without analyzing the weather. And the air in your wings. And so what when the rain pelts your seasoned skin?

You’ll battle my worst tendencies, you will. Tragically. Celebrate the good and bad of them. And together, we’ll love the humble. And Conqueror will be your second middle name.