Because My Mom Told Me To:

Maybe we can get back to it
to the freedom and the peace,
to the comfortable quiet and unbreakable trust.
But I will no longer be 19,

and you might have lost your inexhaustible awe.

When I am no longer 19,
I might no longer clap for fairies
or speak of being charitable to trolls,
while you might begin to rein in the power behind your laugh

and the trembling passion that colors your tone in vibrant reds and golds

When I am no longer 19
I might finally learn to say no,
and you might choose to go,
to run so far that you forget what it is you’re running from,

or even who you are.

When I am no longer 19
we might both have forgotten by then
the way the other takes their tea,
or to automatically choose our seats based on the fact that you’re a leftie,

and I’m always right, except for when it’s of any importance.

Maybe we will get back to it,
to you and me: two birds of opposite feathers,
roaring laughter against the rage of the stars.
Maybe, someday, you’ll decide I’m worth another chance,
even though I will no longer be 19.
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