Don't look at me like that.
I didn't rob the cradle.
No, really. She was six and a half when I was born.
Yes, you would think that I was the older of the two of us.
No, I don't know what happened to my youth. I just know I was old at thirteen. By twenty-six, I was positively ancient, and my hair was going gray. By - well, let's just leave that alone. We're liable to realize I died, or something.
She hasn't gotten there yet. She's still young. No, I don't know how she does it. Somehow, I don't think that she has to work at it.
Well, I don't value it in myself. But I do value it in her, and want to protect it. So if something has to give, then it's going to be me.
She's very lucky. Let's see if she has a little good fortune to spare.
Remembering all of nothing
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Some years I posted a poem on a well known bulletin board for an internet
news magazine which provoked an unexpected response. I wrote concerning a
blurr...
10 hours ago
1 comments:
Huh? I know what you mean, though. My brother, two years younger, has looked like the older of the two of us for a long time. It's weird to see pictures of us. I want to slow him down, so that he keeps pace with me, so that I don't lose sight of him.
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