in the end
maybe i just miss us.
all of us. the way things used to be.
simple times. finger-painted dreams.
crying over spilled milk and broken Barbie dolls.
model train sets. remote controlled cars.
the perimeters of our world cut from
paper-heart valentines and the pages of TeenBeat magazine.
maybe i don't like change very much
maybe i just don't like this change
maybe, in the end, i just want what i can't have:
to catch up
with all this growing up
all of us have had to do.