From a balcony in Lisbon, I saw you. A phone charger with laughs and giggles. The majesty you inspire is the gospel. The holy trinity of beauty and allure. A smile that could light a thousand rooms.
It wasn’t because I knew then that youth had escaped me. It was the energy of the wild young hearts. They were running free whilst I was snared. I’m not trapped. That is the feeling one gets when one endeavours to voyeur the lives of others.
I am not the mother of the four, but a sister. My age is but a number, but my feelings are young. They are but tiny embers before the inferno of emotion.