The first time we met
was when we were six.
Your knees were pale and smooth.
Mine were littered with scars.

The first time we met,
They waited for the sky to fall.
They waited for days, until
they realized the sky was not falling.

Life went on.
We grew side by side.
The sky had yet to crash
into the sea.

They waited—
months flew by—
the prophecies cannot be wrong!
they said, shocked.

I told them that prophecies were just fairytales.
I was six, and I didn't believe in fairytales.
I told them they were wrong.
I was too confident.