I picture us still sending each other one-line check-ins that mean everything.

I'll keep offering to help paint rooms even when our arms are sore.

I want to know we'll still meet weekly for bad takeout and better company.

I want to be the person who remembers your birthday before Facebook does.

I want a future where your plant collection takes over my kitchen counters.

Promise to nudge me when I'm buried in work and forget to eat.

I want to argue over thermostat settings ten years from now.

I see us still sharing playlists and swapping books on quiet afternoons.

I'll make sure there's always an extra toothbrush in my bag for you.

Can we agree to clear snow from each other's cars when winter hits?

I misspoke: I don't just hope we'll stay close, I trust we will.

I want a future that includes your terrible puns at every holiday dinner.

I will cheer the loudest when you get the promotion you deserve.

Let's promise to learn basic plumbing together so rental floods don't win.

I like thinking of us checking in with honest texts, not long speeches.

I'll be the one who helps you move boxes, no questions, every single time.

I want to argue about paint colours for an apartment we'll share someday.

I want to keep your postcards from trips and tack them on a corkboard.

I feel sure we'll find ways to support each other's messy ambitions.

I want a future where we still steal fries from each other's plates.

Let's finally learn one recipe together and always mess it up the same way.

I like the idea of decades of mundane texts from you about bus times.

I will always save you the last slice of pizza even if I'm starving.

I imagine us still trading playlists when phones are full of photos.

Tell me you'll remind me to call my mum when work gets messy.

I look forward to borrowing your oversized coat and pretending it fits me.

I feel calmer knowing you'll be there when I screw up a job interview.

Can we promise to keep that awful drawer of chargers and actually label everything?

I picture us still laughing over the same dumb jokes when we're both grey.

I want simple future mornings where you steal my cereal and I pretend to mind.

I want to be the one you call first when you find a ridiculous hat.

I want to keep a jar for movie ticket stubs from films we saw together.

I hope we still text each other a single gif at midnight on bad days.

Agree to an annual photograph in the same doorway so we can watch the years.

I want to be the person who shows up with soup when your throat goes.

Can we buy a cheap bookshelf and fill it with the books we swear we'll read?

I want mornings where we sit with two mugs and argue about which bakery to try.

Let's set a rule: twice-yearly weekend trips, even if it's just to the next town.

I want to plan a tiny garden on your balcony next spring with those cracked terracotta pots you like.

I want to be the reason you call to say you found something funny.