!(imgcenter)http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1293/611175515_9f05bc95c1.jpg(Sunset at Sentosa)!:http://www.flickr.com/photos/yannie/611175515/
Will you still hold my hands and admire the sunset with me when we are old, grey and wrinkly?
Will you still love me when time has left its vestige on my aspect, when I no longer look upon things in childlike wonder, when age has hampered my mobility and when the years have robbed me of my youth?
Will you still feel the compulsion to hold me when I no longer resemble the 18-year-old girl you fell in love with, when the white hairs run in streaks through my head, when all that’s taut now inches closer towards gravity?
Will you, then, still look upon me and feel the same gush of emotion that you felt when you first said you loved me, whenever we pass a milestone and erect our names in history, when you decided our lives are intertwined forever?
Yannisms 