I'm the happily ever after in our storybook tale.
Cinderella doesn't exist and dwarves are just stone statues.
The only music in our wonderful romance
is the sudden rush of noise from our alarm clocks.
We live in a reality-driven paperback,
soiled by poverty and diesel engines.
We'll dance at our wedding to some 90's band,
who'll light up their smokes and drink beer at the end.
There's no bright shining light as we kiss our first kiss
as a couple in love, finally rolling off in our '94 Pontiac.
No, but instead, we'll have laughs which aren't dated by time or fads.
And we'll smile like people did centuries before.
We'll strive to be unique in a world with a copy machine, but probably falter halfway through.
Our love is genuine, different, weird like a musty old wine in the basement of my grandparent's house.
But I like it that way, and I suppose you do too.