This is our year.
This is our time to be what the songs drone on about.
The ones that our parents pretend to despise, then secretly reflect on the uplifting lyrics,
transporting their minds to a time less worrisome then their own.
The skinny dipping, the toxins, the sweet tastes ever- present on our tongues,
our gentle fingertips searching in the dark for more.
We mark the time with countless lyrics,
hold sacred the memories with sporadic pictures.
No one can take this from us.
Our steps will get a little lighter,
until we can no longer feel the hard ground; watching afar from the tops of the branches.