We were in your van.
The one your mother gave you.
You hated it, like you did most things.
Being young and angry was the only phase you never grew away from.
We were young, you were younger, 18 and 20.
We grieve about what we can’t change and swear we wont make the same mistakes.
You want to run away and while I dont encourage it I dont try to talk you out of it.
Because I know what its like to feel caged, you spend your entire life planning your get away and jump at the first chance you get.
I dont think you’re ready to become so wordly, but when you dropped me off I kissed your cheeks, knowing the next time I see you, if I ever do, you wouldnt be the same girl im saying goodbye too.