Ten years in, and the house still softens when you two walk in, Love lives in the small stuff, in early coffee and the low laughs I hear within, My mom and dad, still shoulder to shoulder, still turning days into home, Happy anniversary, with all my heart — you’ve shown me where I’m from. I know it in the way you split the oranges, a perfect half for each, In the worn-out shoes by the door, a silent story they preach, In the smudged notes on the fridge, a grocery list or a sweet decree, In the half-drunk tea cups nobody bothers to wash, just left there to be. In the way you talk about groceries, about the neighbor, about the bills this week, Like keeping it together is just picking up what you need, no grand mystique. It's in the quiet hum of the kitchen, the light left on in the hall, The unspoken knowing glances, the way you catch each other's fall. Ten years in, and the table still holds your stories like it always did, The same old chairs, the same scratches, the same bad joke one of you can’t quit, And all the little things that used to pass me by when I was too young to see Are the reasons this place feels sturdy, are the reason I believe. My mom and dad, still shoulder to shoulder, still turning days into home, Happy anniversary, with all my heart — you’ve shown me where I’m from.
