壁花少年

end of the fall. end of november. end of an era.

madrid...madrid...in your november coldness i think about the summer. summer when we met for the first time. i stood by the sea, hodling your hands in the waves, watching seagulls draw a beautiful arch in the sky. isn't that magnificent?

where is our childhood? she asks me, looks me in the eyes, and lifts her beautiful eyebrows. the lightness we used to live with yet have mistaken for bordom. the words we scribble on paper or typed in our type machine. the moments of gift-swapping, and song-singing, and candle-lighting, and kisses in the dark that betray us for who we really are. where is our childhood, our youth? can you tell him that it's not his fault, or anyone's? the time we have wasted on being unhappy, and sorrow about who we used to, when things are never complicated at all. you can decide where we go from here.

dear charlie, how's everything? i had this vision of being somewhere and being somebody, all of it so light and cheerful. but i am afraid it'll all disappear one day. i think about the time we've lost, the people i miss, the conversations i had and keep wanting to repeat until they wear me out. this fear for losing everything, it's becoming unbearable, and there's little i could do. can i get that back?

thirteen years from now i would be 35 years old. how time flies.

i just wish i could have it all back.

love, m.