I remember, one time, at my house, she often came to my house -I couldn't take the bus to hers, I had no bus card-, and then, she got up, oh the memory, it is blurry, and one, one second, a fraction of it, I wanted to kiss her. Hold her tightly, to never let go.
Now, I'm glad I didn't. She is young, and I'm old, too old for this world, an old soul.
Don't get me wrong, there is less than a year between our ages, earthly bounds, but I know the cosmos far longer than she does.
She told me secrets, so many things, about herself, things I found interesting, but I didn't always believe her. I told her the secrets that I had, the ones I could tell. Many are buried, deep in my mind, for no other soul to see, or hear.
It was the end of summer, school would begin again, soon, and we would drown in assigments, tests and homework -little did we know what was coming. It was her birthday, and I found a new friend, someone else she had invited to the sleepover. It was only little time later that I knew, he was an old soul too.
He -at the time, I still thought he was a she, and I had to get used to it, but that was easy- talked about the world in a different way than I did, than I do, still. He might be older than me, way older, I realise only now. He knew, he knows, still, many things I had not seen yet.
YOU ARE READING
Under the moonlight
PoesíaPoems and thoughts. ...What else am I supposed to do? These are things I wrote down the way I think, with sweltering anger and invigorating joy, in tears and smiles. I dearly hope you will take these words as advice, to live by and never to forget. ...
