Hidden within ...

I was sixteen and riding on the transit.

While looking about the old city.

Wanting more and hoping for it.

Telling myself that when I grew up I'd do better.

I'd have money.

 I didn't have much as a child.

I'd do things.

 I'd just been turned down by my parents
 to go to ski school with my friends.

As life went on, I still wanted.

I'd get that notebook out on those late Winter nights.

Write my thoughts.

Look at them the next day.

Life and exams got in the way.

Ok, a boy or two did too.

I even showed them what I did.

They didn't seem impressed.

 

When I saw the writing promt

from Willow, I was scared.

I don't write much.

I am now an old soul.

That young girl is

 hidden within my wrinkles.

My memories are shiny and worn within.
Like the old urn on the mantel.

That young girl is still on the bus.

 Dreaming within her words.

And, so just for today

She writes ...