Sign height







Six years.

Why do things look so different when you turn around? You can’t remember the feelings you had, the taste in your mouth, the smell of the breeze.

Six years.

The song from Rent counted the number of hours in a year. Six years would not sound as good, the notes would clash and churn against each other.

Six years.

Will I wake up tomorrow and find it has been seven? Eight? Ten? How soon will the time rush upon me when I will have been without you longer than with you? Our time together, that seemed so long, just a blink in time?

Six years.

Like dark, sticky molasses on a spoon. Hard to stir, staining, strong, yet gone when held to the light. Time is an unfair playmate, taking home the toys we like best.

Six years.

I’ve learned, I’ve grown, I’ve changed so much. Would you even know me if you saw me now? Would you be surprised at who I’ve become or turn away in disappointment?

Six years.

Life is easy. It goes on or it ends. We can’t control the sun or the moons or even the wind. Living is hard. Moving, dreaming, hoping…they take work.

Six years.

The young feel it the most.





Cause I said so.

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