sad weather feels like old love
with the gray sky pouring down nostalgia.
i think of when i was just six years old
sitting on the backseat of a long car ride
i was staring at my reflection against the rain-stained windows
attempting to peer past the seemingly childish eyes
don’t you remember when you’d watch your index finger move
to touch the fogged up glass, cold and slippery?
drawing abstract lines aimlessly leading to nowhere
in wonderment of all your inner soliloquies
to think and to feel and to solely exist
in that instant i was imagining the world at six
because this thing called living felt anomalous and ordinary
but over the years had to succumb to oblivion and insensibility
though that didn’t last because i had to ask, “why?“
curiosity overtook in between all the lies
but what do i know? i’m scarcely twenty four
with everything i have i will always want more
and years from now i see myself looking back
tormenting all the parts of me that i know i still lack
seeing the naiveté in these plain thoughts and words
reflecting on whatever it is that i will have later learned
envy grows in my older self
to have had the dreams i still hold on to and rope
around in my mind as effervescent illusions
either turn to reality or become lost hope
but is reality not a deception to our fantasies?
love being one of those things still desired?
despite its power to bring calamity
or is it a feeling or a choice that is eventually acquired?
was old love found past the childish eyes?
or was it only in the innocence simply of unknowing?
no — old love is entwined in sad weather and gray sky
which may all be a part of what we call growing