You are no longer that little boy, who put bugs in my hair.
That boy who spent his recesses throwing around footballs,
With the pretext you were a rough, hard-hitter.
Somehow we went from 4th grade journalists,
Replacing our pencils with fingers.
Blindly, we trace one another’s lips,
As if we were looking for that lost present.
The pastel lights of last week’s Christmas tree.
Show the surprise in your gray eyes,
That sparkles prettier than those on the tree.
You are no longer that little boy who spits, and throws his food at lunch,
That boy who would secretly ride by my house,
In search of that make-believe dog.
Somehow, we went from exchanging awkward glances,
To, candlelit baths, and laughter.
You are the only boy.