I always said
marriage was a fucking scam.
a piece of paper.
a trap with pretty flowers and broken vows.
a ceremony soaked in lies and expectations.
I never believed in it.
not with Iris.
not with anyone.
but then—
you happened.
and I started dreaming dreams
I didn't believe in.
you'd sing in the kitchen,
messy bun, old hoodie, barefoot.
you'd teach our kids to play piano,
I'd teach them the chords to "Rainbow Connection."
they'd laugh.
we'd fight about who gets bedtime duty.
you'd win. always.
we'd go to cheap food stalls
and call it a date night.
you'd rate every ramen like you were Michelin.
I'd pretend I knew shit about food.
but I'd only care about your smile.
you'd steal my hoodies.
paint your guitar in colors I hated.
I'd fix your chords.
you'd fix my heart.
and every boring monday,
every fucked up thursday—
we'd still have something to talk about.
even if it was
just the neighbor's cat,
or why your coffee always tasted better than mine.
I never wanted a wedding.
I just wanted
you.