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