juvenile wisdom
we are not more than the sum of our years
You are no taller, nor older, nor wiser than I have ever been. You are not more than the sum of my years only because your house is well kept and your hair is well trimmed and your shoes well shined. Our years are all the same both ways, either ways, they are constantly moving in similarly simultaneous directions, that are all the same in their differences, and stronger for their odd plainness, the comings and goings. Our ways are waves syncopating. I could teach you something if you knew how to listen with your mouth closed. You could teach me something too, if only we knew how to weaken cement resolves, if we knew how to not stand on our tip-toes around each other, or tilt our heads up, or cross our arms or roll our eyes at seemingly juvenile proclivities, our petty prejudices percolating through our thinly veiled impatiences. Standing level and at each others' whims, our voices marinating in the air, our words melting into each other and transforming your wholeness in front of me now, your years are as clear and numerable as tree rings. And I know I am no taller, nor older, nor wiser than you have ever been.
love your writing!
this is amazing