The little pink and gold rays of light shine through our huge room windows. Me and you went to bed late last night because of us working in the studio on our newest album. It was a good session, but I can tell, after 20 plus years of making music, you're getting tired. You don't have that same drive in you like you did at 16/17.

Me and you met in when we were about 5 or 6, and it was actually through a church event. I remember being with my mother and seeing you with yours, and I tugged on her black dress and said, "Momma, he has pretty eyes," and she said, "Well, why don't you go tell him yourself?" Her smile was infectious, like most things of hers. So, I did, and you said that I has pretty, black hair. I smiled, and we went on to sing together. I don't remember what song, but I do remember I held your hand because you were nervous.

After we got signed in 2005, we were each other's most frequent collaborator and we, during the past 20 or so years, have gone on to win many grammys and everything one could win. But me and you welcomed our daughter, Diamond, on January 7, 2022, and she's been your focus. As well as mine, but you've "laid off" of music.

Back to the present. I look over at you and I see your relaxed, stress-free face. I caress your hair from your forehead and I see you wake up. You didn't open your eyes, but you're awake. I lean down into your neck and mutter.

"Let's go wake Dia up before she jumps on you. Okay?"

I use my right hand and I gently rub your back. I then get under your shirt and rub your skin. You don't get up and I smile to myself. I gently push you onto your back and say,

"Get up, or I'm get Dia on your ass, nigga."