I’ll wait for you to breathe through it; I’m not going anywhere.

I’m waiting for you to finish that song before I start driving.

I’ll wait in the car while you grab one more thing from the store.

I’m waiting for your laugh to come back after a bad day.

I’ll wait in the lobby reading the same page until you arrive.

I’ll wait one more hour; text if you need me to stay longer.

I’ll wait for you at the crosswalk, even if the light changes.

I’m waiting at the café table by the window with our mugs.

I’ll wait for you to pick a spot; I trust your choice.

I waited in the rain under the green umbrella until you came.

I stay up extra late so you don’t come back to an empty chat.

I’ll wait through the credits if you fall asleep during the movie.

I’m here, in the kitchen, leaning on the counter until you get home.

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 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?