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We were so naïve, made of chalk drawings of suns and cubes in the drive, paisley jumpers or jeans with holes and mud under fingernails.
To think, a stick was just a stick and not a sword or a metaphor between us. And our multiplying freckles were only signs of age, not beauty or relics of kisses left by angels and mothers and you.
We left the only magic in the rows of planted pines miles between our houses, not the circles of mushrooms or the tree-rain that lingered every day after four.
What we were, we never
by =bekkia
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- Current Residence: New Zealand!! (that means NOT-aussie)
- Email: ria@nightscooter.co.nz
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