I’d ache to talk with you just one more minute,
Hating the lady who’d cut in and say one more minute and the call would be cut.
I thought a year would never end,
And then you were home.
Almost a decade shot by.
And here we are.
Sitting across the dinner table.
It’s hard to hear you because
The toddler is singing,
The baby is crying,
And living a story is louder than I thought it’d be.
But I still love you.
You’re still my favorite.
And I still wish we could talk just one more minute.