Thursday, October 2, 2014

It's strange how days go by
Then weeks and months and years
Holding on to disappearing things
Not completely letting go. One person.
A million dreams. The exuberance at 17 which you can't replicate at 21. Never would you feel the same way again. You wait for the magnanimity of growing older. Hoping it will suit you better. Youth is as ill fitting as an awkwardly tailored coat picked up from the flea market. On birthdays you remember the people you were with on all your previous birthdays and how every birthday you find yourself bereaved of so many people; it sends you weeping. And then there are old lost friends who reappear. Don't go yet, you want to tell them, Stay. 

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