You ask me in all seriousness if I will love you always.

What kind of question is that?

Really, what kind of question is that?

I can't see past this second, the tip of my nose

or the next feminine hygiene commercial.

Ask me a question I can answer with the pride of

certainty. Give me a fighting chance to look smart.

Don't force me to be mystical and all knowing.

Someone else has that job. I think you know him.

Ask me a question that I can wrap my response around

like smooth, thick, sweet honey.

After all, this is real life, not the last thirty seconds of

Days of Our Lives.

Ask me why your smile is like free medicine.

Ask me why the feel of the beating of your heart helps

me get to sleep at night.

Ask me why, with enough hot sauce, your scrambled eggs

are becoming a favorite meal.

You ask me with all seriousness if I will love you always.

What kind of question is that?

Really, what kind of question is that?