recrudescence | With Age

The stove is hot, the grass is not to be walked on, asking people that is rude. You were only four; how could you know?

You were only six, only ten, only thirteen.

Only seventeen when you failed an English test; still too much to learn, still youthful.

You’re only twenty-seven. You pitch your own battles, set your own standards, follow your own creed. You sneak back into his office at the end of the day and take the envelope. Still so much ahead of you, so much to absorb. But it’s harder being the young upstart, knowing you might never evolve beyond it.

Stark ivory lines uncompromising under your fingertips, stark black print blurring under your gaze. You should have known better.

With Age

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