Look At You, You're Growing Old So Young

Dishpan hands and an aching back.
She never could have imagined this.
All she had ever wanted,
Hers.
One more year and the light through the cracks in the windows
might shine a little more.
Two more years might mean less of the tension hardening his jaw,
and more of the laugh that reminds her of falling in love.
It seems selfish to say that things are anything but wonderful.
To wish for anything better.
She wonders if it’s her.
She wonders if all the things she is giving will ever be enough.
She wonders when the time will come.
Hers.
One more year is another year of their innocence lost.
The days of firsts will be spread so much thinner.
Two more years – will she remember where she’s been?
Will it be everything she wanted?
She needs to know she’ll miss this.