Isn't it funny how when I look at you
all I see
are remnants
of what used to be?

I can't bear to look at you
as who you are now
because if I do
then I know that that part of me
has died.

The part of me
that played in the stream by my house,
the one that built a bridge out of mud and an old windshield
The part of me that swung for hours on that bee infested swing
that dangled over the steep ravine in your backyard.

Do you remember when we wanted to run away?
We were going to build flying machine
and travel
far and wide

I wish now that we had built a flying machine instead of adolescence.
...
I'm sorry

s.c.