Will you get bored of me?
Will you look at me and see an open book that you no longer want to read?
Will you feel repulsed at touching the same skin over and over again, with nothing new to discover?
Will you stop looking at me because you have memorised every beauty spot, every wrinkle and every scar?
Will you not want to listen to my overly familiar voice, and start craving a rhythm that my heart cannot give?