Morning finds me before the light does,
your breathing slow beside my own —
and I think: of all the roads there were,
how lucky the one that led me home.
So here is some love letter,
no reason, no special day —
just me, still choosing you,
the ordinary, extraordinary way.
You are the small hand on my back
when the world tips loud and wide,
the laugh I keep on catching myself in,
the quiet I don't have to hide.
We have burned the toast, we have missed the train,
we have said the wrong thing twice —
and still you reach across the dark
and still your hand is paradise.
So here is some love letter,
no reason, no special day —
just me, still choosing you,
the ordinary, extraordinary way.
Grow old with me, keep growing strange,
keep learning me by heart —
I'll sign this not with ink but time:
yours, from the very start.