He led me to each and every rock; careful like walking on eggshells. i wasn’t worried if i fell, because i knew he would be there to catch me.
though the cold raindrops grazed our coats and mud seeped into what remained of my pink vans, i didn’t anything but warmth inside me when beside him.
but looking at a scene these days aren’t the same. i fear tripping and falling on my tathered knees, knowing i will only fall into a puddle that reeked of youth.
though his hair has changed, i hope to find the shreds of his old haircut and weave my own wig and wear with pride, where ever i go.
he’s probably moved on, living his next life as a gorgeous seashell, as i’m stuck in the tide pools where he used to guide me.