we spend each season,
yearning for the next
jumping head first
into salt water
wishing it were leafs,
or kicking up leafs,
wishing it were snow

we just never stop
wishing long enough
to feel ourselves grow

then one day we wake up
to a shy sun, not yet fully risen
and the windows are closed,
and the blinds are drawn,
and for one half of a second
we look in the mirror
and we have no sense of time,
no sense of season...
we're just so much older
older than we remember
and we don't know
how or when it happened