A year to go and a life to lead,
Her other’s in London, and they’ll tell her to heed
Those clichéd warnings about distance and time,
Saying that ‘all won’t end up just fine’.
They’ll say it won’t work – severed they’ll be,
By trains and planes and a lack of time free.
They say they’ll lose interest, that in all of this world
There’ll be other boys and a few other girls.
But all that is bollocks – pure pointless trash,
When you care about someone it’s not just a flash
In the pan of your life, but a splendourous moment,
Of spooning on sofas; time always well spent.
Of fresh cups of tea left by your bed
And a place of your own onto which rests your head
As you fall asleep in the arms of your lover,
No sex is required – their care is no bother.
All those rom-coms now may make sense,
A boy meets a girl, no need for pretense.
No meet-cute in sight, for all that there’ll be
Is you and your own, not ‘I’ but ‘we’.