I am almost nineteen years old and I am sick of many things
Like the way the neighbor's dog barks at me when I get home
or how it always rain on New Year's Eve
never being able to find a bra that fits me right
terrible endings of good novels
being expected to know about things I have no interest in
having to wear shoes in the summer time
the girl in my class who always rolls her eyes at the clothes I'm wearing
annoying, catchy songs that get stuck in my head
feeling sad on Sunday evenings
friends that don't text back
people who talk about calories during meals
and the way my History teacher always pronounces my name wrong

But someday I'll be 100 years old
(and you'll be 102)
And I will never get sick of the way
your eyes light up when you wake up next to me
and kiss my chapped lips
and mumble, "Good morning."