By Rachel Vargeletis | Observer Contributor
Eyes tend to glisten with a certain, familiar
Shine of regret the older one gets.
Wrinkles tend to cast a deeper, darker shadow
Upon their chagrinned pretense
The older one gets.
“Sorry”s feel empty and
“I love you”s only feel like a way of apologizing.
The sun hurts more than is ever brightens your day,
And suddenly,
You find your feet sore from
The routine
Instead of bouncing in eager leaps across each room,
Craving sand under their seasoned edges
And wet dirt between their wriggling toes,
The older one gets.