late afternoon sunlight descends through the waving Palm and Oak branches highlights the rips in the knees of my jeans, made not bought and I feel like I'm seven years old again waiting for everything too young to know what's waiting for me on the other side of time but then my next door neighbor comes outside and says "Hello" and it's welcome back to now, to right now, when I'm twenty four and sitting outside writing this poem, hoping that you're proud of me, hoping that I can still learn to love properly, hoping that I always get rips in the knees of my jeans.