thoughts from the 8 year old I never got to be

Ive been told that I’m growing up too fast

but I still feel more traces of 8 then 18 in my blood and I’m not sure if I’m just good at hiding my immaturity or if the veins in my baby hands are telling a less significant story then the maturity of my hazel eyes

it was somewhere between my last attempt to spend a whole day alone and my first attempt to spend a whole day with him that I discovered hiking alone made for a lot less memories and I don’t want to die with empty space in my head

knowing I’ll live forever makes me feel infinite and insignificant all at the same time

and my tongue still feels twisted when I try to tell him how much I like his compliments about my teeth or the way I slice apples

I think he has the most beautiful mind

and  I’m scared of holding hands but I think I’m more scared of not

and maybe if we meet in heaven I’ll tell him about the time we were up until four talking and once he fell asleep I laid awake the rest the night counting the hours until we could talk again

he makes me feel like the 8 year old I never got to be due to the repercussions of a mother that never did my hair before school in the mornings

It’s hard not to think we are reflections of those who couldn’t love us but he makes the escape from my insecurities look as easy as 2 + 2

It’s nice to find someone else that wants to run away and pretend we know how to make something of ourselves in a world where the only thing that matters is how good you are at proving you’re not a racist.

In all honesty we’re too busy learning all the Hamilton lyrics to worry about what color of skin the cashier at 7/11 had

I’ve been told I’m growing up too fast

and I think a green eyed boy with big dreams is just what I needed to slow myself down