if I remember correctly, you flew out today.
it's raining super freaking hard right now and everything smells like wet earth.
petrichor and all that.
I remember watching your lips fumble with the word, you knew it, it sat perched on the very tip of your tongue, but your memory was failing you. I remember giving it to you softly.
once you told me you loved to play in the rain.
it was then that I knew you were more than the invincibility you put on.
you wish to be grown, to be free of parental bonds, allowed to expand your mind to no limits.
you want excitement and newness, infatuation and sex. you talk about it all the time, the life you wish you could skip to; the chapter that I've promised will begin sooner then you realize. when I say that, it's a warning too.
don't rush. don't miss this year.
you're seventeen, you're not grown yet.
there's a smallness to you, despite what you recognize, there is a childlike hope.
you're more optimistic then you realize.
after all, you want to save the world
and play in the rain.
we're seventeen. please don't miss this year.
6/18/19
