It's coming.
The time we looked forward to when, way back in our youth, people asked us amusing questions like, "What will you be when you grow up?"
It's coming.
The thing we couldn't wait for when we got angry at our parents and wanted to be older so we wouldn't have to put up with them anymore.
It's coming.
We're not children anymore. We can't hide behind our mother's skirts or hold our father's hand when we're scared of the dark.
It won't be long before we're doing that for our children.
It's coming.
On graduation night, when we stand up there so proud... and so alone, we'll cry. Because the panic will finally hit us and we'll finally realize there's no more waiting around.
Life is here.
This was published in my high school yearbook the year I graduated, a last-minute addition, because the staff decided they liked it. I was not a member of the staff.
ReplyDeleteA few years later, I was in college. The yearbook teacher had moved on to another school. She contacted my parents, who called me, to tell me that her then-current school (yearbook class) wanted to publish my poem as their senior farewell, too. I received a copy of their yearbook for agreeing.