Dear older me,
How long did you last?
Long enough to live or to regret?
Dear older me, was it my fault?
Did you find it out then that it was us all along?
Dear older me, I'm sorry, I want you to take me by the
Hand and tell me it's fine, that it was all a way to survive,
An instinct of the brain. Dear older me, take me down to our old
Park; rusty swings, lychee juices and warm sweaters, fun people,
People we'll never forget. Dear older me, I'll swing, and you'll sit, warming
Your hands, smiling, watching me smile those rare smiles, the smiles you used to
Give when you were my age. We're okay, you and I, for now, but not forever, we're okay
When we're in a place that is a coffin of memories. Dear older me, it's okay, you're not perfect.
Someday you'll read this letter from your younger self, and you'll wonder, what went wrong and
Reversed our roles. It's just me, trying to save me from myself. I'm sorry, dear older me.
..............................
Umm... Okay...
<finito>
Af.
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoesieHIRAETH- (n.) A homesickness for a place you can never return to, a place which never was. Previously: Songs Of My Lonely Soul. *** A Song Of My Lonely Soul. A Ballad Of My Heart Whole. A Story That Was Never Said. When We Find It To Be Dead. ...
