i am not sure if i'd still like the same pair of jeans, or if the same kind of music will make me feel.
my mind is like leaves over the seasons: wilting, growing, changing color, blooming once more.
i am not sure if i'd still like pancakes on a sunday morning or like the scent of the pages of a book. i am not sure if i'd still remain silent or if i'd talk loudly - as the years go by.
but floating in my mind is one constant; that is, above all change, i am sure that i'd still adore you every single day