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Jul 4
Young, fresh, unsuspecting—
I was her once.
Instead, now I am the subject
of her pining curiosity.
“When will you get married?”
I empathize and recognize
that my 30 to her 16 seems to be
soft, ripened fruit
on the verge of a good, wasteful spoil.
The smile that cracks on my lips
begs to grow into laughter,
and I resist.
I was her once.
I still catch flecks of her
in the corners of my eyes whenever
I see love take one of its many shapes.
My answer.
“Single admission still gets you
into the same movie, kid.”
Looking in the rear view mirror,
I catch that fleck and keep quiet.

Your move, universe.
Copyright Bitsy Sanders, July 2019
b for short
Written by
b for short  Braavos
(Braavos)   
471
   b for short
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