Youth

When I was younger and I would watch movies,

The end of them would always linger.

Like a taste;

Too sour for the bright of mankind,

Yet too sweet for anything else.

The passion,  something that can't be silenced. 

Yet– 

The sour; the dull of the days that never seem to end,

The minutes that drain by like hours, days, years.

A stingy, solemn feeling. Buried in the back of your throat– 

Like words trying so hard to escape but they get buried farther back. 

Like Water, pouring into a bucket, a bucket that never seems to fill–

Yet never seems to drain. 

The sweet; the taste when you’re back home again, the place you grew up,

The place you love.

A house you don’t know anymore, yet it remains somewhere in your head.

A limestone house that sits on the corner of a street so terribly named, 

Everytime someone heard it they couldn’t help but laugh.

And your heart, it yearns for those days you had forgotten,

For you had wished to be anyone so slightly different from yourself–

It changed you completely.

And the minutes, they drain by like seconds

Tick… Tick… Tick…

Sounds like sand falling from an hourglass- 

Each grain of sand, so different yet so alike.

Like people, each individual is a part of something bigger than themselves.

Yearning for more yet too scared for what it could bring.

And Everyone; growing older, yet they grow without you.

Your family, you can barely recognize them now.

Years and years.

Days and days.

Hours and minutes down to every individual second.

All the same feeling–

Gone.

And now you miss it,

The days you once threw away;

Unwanted like the wrapper of your favorite candy,

Too unimportant to save and now that’s one of your life's biggest regrets.

The longing to see people you know you can’t,

So out of reach yet so close to your heart.

Each minute remains the same, each feeling, each sound, each second. 

Staring up at the Marfa night sky not knowing that would be the last time you were there. 

The feeling of driving through the Texas Hill Country, 

The sweet smell of wildflowers and the blue of the sky. 

The feeling of being content while the world had practically ended the previous month. 

The fondness for somewhere you had hated your entire life. 

A place you tried so hard to escape, yet you miss it so much. 

For the feelings you had there you’ve never felt anywhere else. 

And it wasn’t like that place was amazing, it was terrible. 

You hated every moment of it, but looking back; 

You see the moments you hated slightly less– 

The look of the green grass when spring would come,

With its wildflowers that would line the highway. 

And the smell that came with wildflower season–

A sweet smell of honey and pure joy for that’s all you remember now– 

All that you miss. 

And now Four years later you’re in the same place, 

Same hobbies, same days, same life. 

Each day now ticks by at the same rate, 

Each hour, minute, down to the individual second- 

Yet something inside you has changed.

Now you feel the same as the end of the movies you always had loved,

Too sour for the normality of life–

Yet too sweet for anything else.