Watch them Grow

You linger, so softly against the surface of existence. Like the feeling of sun. I told you were once like a warmth close to childhood. A home i want to go back to. A place to watch me grow as we mark it on the frames of our door.

5’3?

It was close to that, as he asked reaching to trace a line with a pencil forever etching itself there.

“You’ve reached my height.”

“Your height when you were 13.”

“And now you’re 15.” it was like a statement of applause. You can only experience a life once even if you lived long enough its still your first time being alive.

“You’ve grown too.” 

“Up to where?” he asks. 

“Up here.” I answered measuring his height merely by eye, tracing a line just above mine. 

“It doesn't seem so impressive…” bashful and ashamed he rubs the back of his neck, looking on the lines on the door. I think i like it though.

Its not so hard to reach his face from my distance, a similarity two pairs would have. Though for a fact i know his friends have had a growth spurt so maybe he feels sorta left behind in that department. 

The high and mighty falls first. But i honestly have no words of consolation for him on that matter.

“You have the perfect height. Give me a high five!” cheered me, the best i can as held my hand up and towards him. He reciprocated it, though not without a small look astonishment.

✩✩✩

Outside on the dirt path we follow, there was a bunch of trees the sizes of lamp posts — and some taller — as they drizzle down the water from earlier rain. The drops pooling down into a puddle that reflects our silhouette as we pass by it, careful to not cause a ruckus of a splash with our shoes.

Earth after rain is beautiful.

The calm tones of grey clouds as the light around turns soft, like the fog on the window, the passing visions on a car ride.

In our walk we eventually settled on a soft patch of grass, satisfied with the feeling of moss underneath our fingers and legs.

Some light peaks through the shade of the tree, shivering lazily as a gust of wind passed through the heap of leaves, leaving the light to hit his form.

I am reminded of a child from asteroid B-612, how he descended down to earth and made friends with a fox. Taming it and becoming unique to each other.

“Hm? What flower is that.”

“Nothing but a daisy.”

Eventually in their departure he would forever be remembered, fossilized in the crevices of a book or a rock on the earth.

To keep your memories as something that keeps time still, forever unyielding to the forces. I’ll tell them, i’ll draw us pictures.

“What for?” he held the daisy gently between his fingers. “Nothing in particular, i just thought it’d look nice in your hands.” 

And it did look nice. 

Like the many times it had drizzled on afternoons. Filling up rivers on the south west of this garden. You can pass them pass by, watch them grow and i’ll be here, basking on sunlight, just as we are now.

Will you be here the next time i measure my height on the door?