Seven years ago you wondered what we were together.
I said we were a done deal.

Six years ago you followed me south for the winter
And stayed.

Five years ago we traded rings and shared some cake.
A done deal made real.

Unreal, if you popped back to 1993 to tell us about it.
But no, it’s real.

Anniversary cards are cliché.
All the words are somebody else’s.
All the gifts are passionless.
A wood cutting board is not the most graceful metaphor for enduring love.

We don’t always get along.
Communication is a challenge.
Tidiness is not your strongest suit.
But I rarely cook. So that’s fair.

Fair. All’s fair in love and war.
Never war. Not with you. You say
Lead with love.
The rest will follow.

Sometimes I stay out way too late.
I can’t seem to learn to stay in touch.
My silences must be maddening.
Doubly so when I missed what you just said.

I have a way with words but I don’t write enough.
I used to draw dragons but then I got a camera.
I talk about filming epics
But my camera’s getting dusty.

And maybe worst of all we live in New York
The food, the shows, the museums, the galleries, the concerts.
But really
I’d rather just stay home with my family.

I’ve got dreams, baby! Big time!
If I could just get out from under this day-to-day
Doing a job I love
And being home.

So our five year plan is looking more like ten.
I’m starting to wonder if the endless compromises
Are what life is actually all about.
And whenever we get to where we thought we wanted to go…

It won’t look at all like we thought it would.

But I’ll tell you what.
You are the cool water to my burn.
The rock to my roll.
The sugar to my lemonade.

If this is life,
This balancing act of wants and needs
And most of all sharing
And I manage to keep you interested

Whenever we get to wherever it is
that together we ended up going
I will count myself among the luckiest of men
and ask to go around again.