Eternally

You didn’t look good.

The years had plummeted into you.

The fat, the skin-fails, the mood.

 

Yet the memory of you, by consequence,

seemed stronger. 

 

Ah, our youth, now slipping away.

Almost 40 now.

Remember, Simone, the 16^th year of our lives? 

The 17^th?

The 15^th and 14^th?

I was 15 when you told your sis I’d be 

the perfect choice

if you didn’t have a bf already.  

Ah, the years.

 

Ah, the youth.

Are we still a little young?

40 seemed decrepit at the age of 15.

Now it seems there’s still a little hope. 

 

Hm, you don’t look good, Simone. 

Not like you did back then

on Kenton Street.

Your waist not delicate.

Your clothes not light.

Your movements not so dreamy.

 

But you’re beautiful still

in this different world, this different time,

this different song.

You still keep a beat

if only by the memories.

And then those background harmonies, too.

A song still plays.

We’re still a little young

 

eternally.