i have come a long way.

old days and young days became one and the same,
feeling prodded with those saccharine persuasive words dripping off your tongue,
i hid from my future and your past.

i entertain the thought now
that i take pride in the legacy of my grandparents,
in the foundation laid by my family,
and in the quietly powerful strength
of you.

does blowing bubbles in boba tea just make it bubble tea squared?

i am flooded,
swamped,
up to my neck.

how come every metaphor to do with having oodles of work conjours images of my fluttering hands, framed in a deathly silence over a languidly receding ray glimmering, glaring, off the waves ?

you were funny and pretty
danced to ****** pop music like the whole pool wasn't watching
rested your arm on my shoulder and dared me to challenge you on it
wore sunglasses as strikingly blue as your eyes
taught me basketball with a peeling ball and disintegrating net
got my naive, slow heart racing faster than it has in years
talked to me like we'd known each other years longer, instead of the five hour shift you picked up at my pool

so i did what i had to and told myself you spoke to everyone like that; used everyone as an arm rest like that; showed everyone sports like that.

i am not special to you.
but you were to me.