Too Little, Too Late | Teen Ink

Too Little, Too Late

December 15, 2014
By alize.w BRONZE, Austin, Texas
alize.w BRONZE, Austin, Texas
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Austin. The last place I saw you
and where we are today.
It’s been quite come time;
seven years gone away.

I watch as you ramble,
trying hard to catch up.
You are blind to the fact
that you will have no luck.

You’re seeking a candle
that’s never been lit
But from it, heat,
You will never get.

It’s been seven years,
and we’re out of school.
We’ve started our lives.
Seven year, we grew.

Seven years of changes, yet,
when your eyes meet mine,
it’s almost as if
they turn back all that time.

Almost back to high school,
butterflies in my stomach.
My reddening face,
down my throat, my words plummet.

Almost caught that weird feeling
to run from you quick,
but at the same time,
to attach to your hip.

Almost want to impress you
with knowledge that I’ve gained.
My heart almost misses
us playing this game.

As I almost get nervous
and play with my hair,
my heart reminds me
that I no longer care.

And honestly,
all I can assure,
is that I almost missed you
just as we almost were.

What I truly wish now
is to waste no more time.
It seems you’ve been fixed;
nothing new on your mind.

The world has kept on spinning.
No special delays.
I’ve grown quite a bit
in the midst of your haze.

So this should be swift;
I won’t blow hot and cold.
I’m through with you talking
the same old, same old.

Straight to the point
I’ve always been, true.
Guess you just never thought
I’d be so straight with you.

So there’ll be no more giggles
for your stupid jokes.
No desire to chase you
wherever you go.

I’ve lived through the past.
Clearly, you never made it.
Or else you’d not be concerned
with who all I’ve dated.

So allow me the honor
of laying this to rest.
From the depths of my heart,
I do wish you the best.
Don’t look so confused
and stop asking me why.
It is what it is.
Some things crumble with time.

My mind gives no answers
but out hearts know well
that if we force this now,
surely, we’ll be damned to hell.

So I’ll cut us loose
once and for all.
Don’t expect me again
to catch, should you fall.


The author's comments:

In my creative writing class, our teacher told us to pick a random number from 1-10, a person, and a place. The number became the amount of years into the future we were to write about, the person was to be included in the story, and the place is where you and said person are set to be.


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