His face had changed.
Years gave it a new glow,
Something more mature,
More hardened.
His voice had changed.
Cigarettes had given it a new flavour,
A smokiness that could be
Almost touched.
His physique had changed.
Evidently, the young boy of 16
Had become a young man
At 21.
His ideas had changed.
His dreams and desires differed,
Even though not much
From 16.
His mind had changed.
What seemed so far away,
Death and loss had touched him,
Scared him.
Yet the young boy with stars in his eyes,
When we held hands for the first time,
He was a sort of rare beauty living in
Shades of grey that rarely tested that age.
He still loves in colour but moves on
Like a thunderstorm without warning.
And finally, I told him,
You inspire poetry.
