Remember when we used to run through the tall grass
and drop our secrets in the wind
open up your pockets to gift me with our handshake
by the pink fragrant flowers and the third pole we fought over so we could be pitiful in the shade
the melancholy days when the sun seemed to fog up the sky
and you ran to her so we could be
witches, cats, moviestars
we churned popcorn with woodchips on fridays
and dust with rough knees
when he put his finger to his ear you'd grab my hand so our steps would stitch
those flowers we picked to drop and the slide that only worked when your shoes weren't too sticky
you would sing that me and him were sitting in a tree and, well,
you know the rest
so I went back to that 3rd pole to be pitiful in the shade
but by lunch recess I had forgotten because that's just how forgiving I was
back when we were
young
Now together
we still run through the grass
but it seems less tall
we've learned to seal our secrets in lips tight
our handshake has gotten longer
and shade has gotten bigger
but you still grab my hand so our steps will stitch
and I tease you about you and him sitting in a tree,
but now you blush
and we laugh
like we used to
now the slide is more like a pattern of life
than a carefree ride
but sometimes we'll go back to that place together
and remember
that we're still
young
~Flywriter
