Tiny hands tugging on these fine strings, listening intently to the sounds that chime. My dear, it is yesterday that sings so sweetly; a song that fades with time. Why was it so desirable to fly when there is doubt beyond inceptive youth? Where was the unhappiness in the fresh taste of adolescence? I wish that I savored the moments that have gone. For I hadn’t known how tragic it would be when they faded from my eyes.
I awaken my bones late. Hear the crackle like a budding flame. This is my age. I am listening for the old days.