The Interview.

“Right,” He said, eyes roving over her with interest, “What can you bring to the marriage?”

She looked at him as if he were the only man in the room; to her, he was the very oxygen she needed in order to survive, “I will love you with every fibre of my being. Until I die, everything that I am will be yours.”

He nodded slowly, “Right… erm, but can you iron a straight pleat in formal trousers? It’s really an essential skill in a woman, you know?”

Talk to me of old love.

We talk of young love

as if it’s the only love that matters.

Those heady days fade.

Eventually.

No, talk to me about old love.

With its gentle patina of well-worn comfort.

Of another, knowing your thoughts,

knowing what makes your heart race with joy,

laying down dreams so you can find yours.

Talk to me of choosing the same one,

over and over,

and over;

even when it’s hard.

And one day to finally have our hands untwined by

death.

– Talk to me of old love.