Came upon this write up in a newspaper. How simple and how true, I really loved this.
What’s so romantic about growing old with someone?
When does old begin?
With the first sachet of hair dye?
Or when you start cutting down the sugar?
For that matter when does young end?
You know, it won’t ever.
Not when your eyes meet across a crowded room,
And the magic remains the same as the moment you met.