I Wanted To Grow Old With You

I hate the part of me that still does.

Photo by author

I loved the idea of both of us, wrinkly-skinned and hunched, standing two feet apart from each other cackling with laughter as we repeat the ritual back-and-forth bantering of “HUH?!” for the 894,765th time.

I still love the idea of it, no matter how much I wish I didn’t.

All those concerts — like the one that marked the beginning of our relationship — made us both a little hard of hearing. It was endearingly reflective of the things that linked us in those early days of reverie before the weight of our adult lives came crashing down.

We used to joke all the time about how we’d be yelling, “HUH?!” at each other until our last days.

Now I miss those jokes with a ferocity I can’t really put into words… perhaps because I feel so conflicted about my longing.

My therapist and my mother and all of my best friends tell me things are better off this way, and I know that they’re right, but logic can’t extinguish all the little pangs of love that come careening out of nowhere and leave me lusting after a future that I can’t in any way believe is possible anymore.

We promised each other so much.