Gimpse in the mirror, hair cascading down emerald eyes piercing the reflection that isn't entirely yours. Suddenly you see yourself age 78 overlooking the sea on the balcony, wrinkles traced in hands. The Bainbridge ferry streams along like always, dropping off passengers on King Street. Girls and boys strolling down the avenue happiness and dreams circling their trails.
You are only twenty. You should be experiencing this too.
Holidays at the pond reminded you that you were always going to be alone and look at where you are now. No one will see the lights with you. No one wants to see a smile at the bokeh, the incandescent halos wrapped around the bridges.