We are getting old

I don't love the same man I used to.  Remember when we met and I was dating him, and you were dating her, but we sang our duet anyways?

We sing so rarely now. Perhaps that is because we have conversations; rants and rages that need to rise up sequentially and be put to rest in clumps and deflated bundles.

I don't call you every day anymore. Mainly because I get these feelings you may not answer, but also because I've learned I can't make you my whole world.

I never expected any of this. The way you smile and I instantly just want to run my fingers healing your frown lines. We used to be so little, so naive, those years ago. Nothing more than dawning dreams wrapped up in pea coats and lace cloaks. And now, just look at us.

We are getting old.

We are still so young.