The hangout

That house, worn down by sun and salt rain, was doomed. In a few years,

it would be a hollow replacement, gone from our stale grown-up brains. 

But tonight candles would burn bright in our heads and

light would paint across the beautiful walls peeling with old memories:

hiding places for little children in big bodies.

There was no reason to be loud, no more void to fill,

we just stood and looked at our reflections in the window:

They were far, far brighter than we were.