Look at me, I am three.

And the world doesn’t quite scare me yet.

My parent’s fears have yet to invade

I am free…

Mom used to tell me, “Don’t be in such a hurry.”

Growing up was a race.

And I was bound and determined to run it. To win.

To one day declare. “I was young, once.”

Young eyes, despite the obvious advantage

Are so short sighted.

It’s age that remedies this, though.

Irony has a sense of humor, too, I suppose.

It is also in matters of love, that youth can make even the most eagle sighted

Blind.
Love is also a race, I’ve come to find.
This race I was also bound and determined to run. To win.
To one day declare, “I was in love, once”
I scratched that last word out.
I had to

Unlike youth, which you can experience only once
Love comes and goes many times over
In many forms and never the same way twice
Regardless of the scars left behind as reminders

Youth, is measured in time.
Eventually, you can never be young ever again.
Love, on the other hand, is measured in moments of knowing glances
and late night talks about your day
and how much I hated being away from you.