I’ll settle down at fifty.
I figure I’ll have gotten it out of my system by then.
I’ll be more reasonable then.
I’ll wear sensible shoes.
I’ll care less about trending topics and internet perceptions.
I’ll fix your plate first. Like, not just when your mama’s around but all the time.
I’ll forget the stupid things we did at twenty-three. You know, thirty-two calls and eighteen texts kinda stupid. Or I may have bleached your clothes kinda stupid.
I’ll know that love and pride can not co-exist.
I’ll be sure.
I’ll know you better.
Love you better.
I’ll know myself.