Composed by me at age 15, remembered because I didn’t burn it:
A shift, a thrust,
rockets me to the crest.The moon is so cold,
the wind numbs my chest.I throw myself
to the immortal stone sea.All I want is
for you to follow me.
The passion. The pain. The pimples. The ridiculous notion the moon is wind-swept and a good location for a romantic encounter with a 15-year-old boy.
I wrote about my teenaged diary and how Aidan is just beginning to write in hers. The post is over at Mile High Mamas.
Go say hello.