My Answer to Everything

In the far-flung future, in a galaxy not too far away
I will be sitting in the space-garden of my space-house
enjoying a space-coffee
from Starbucks, obviously
when the reporter-droid who is chrono-logging my thrilling life-story
will ask me about my relationship with my one and only

I will gaze at my beloved and
huff the deepest of huffs
bust out my space-ukelele
and play a ballad which would mean something like this

I fell in love on her first word.

We met at a support group for neurotic writers
while a revolution we couldn't care less about brewed outside

i came in wielding fan-fictions from multiple universes
content to sit cross-legged, beaming at my own geekiness

she came in with a lightsabre

she sliced away my preconceived notions of
poetry only being for emo hipsters in poorly-lit rooms belting out cliched moroseness
she showed me raw, un-apologetic honesty
she force-choked my heart that day

the next time i saw her, i had my blue suede shoes on
dancing a merry jig, all hooked on a feeling
and through our infinitely interwined fingers
she called me her Star Lord,
she was already my Pryde

And i'll strum about all the saturday nights
we spent galavanting across all of time and space
no adventure too big, no life too small 
she is my brilliant TARDIS and i am her Doctor
especially when the clock strikes ten and noon

i would follow it up with a power-chord
of all the times fictional characters had us going
"Noooo" and "Whaaaat" in equal measure
and how she is the Holmes to my Watson
even though she is the real doctor
the Frodo to my Sam
and how the One Ring is a metaphor for like life or something
and how sparkly pretty elves are

and when my epic space-ballad of the ages is coming to an end after at least a 40 minute solo
i'll breathe deep
and look at the one who was with me through it all
and will be with me for countless more
i'll say that all of that means just one thing:
she is my 42.