Pete, I woke up yesterday. When I heard the closing of a window.

I swivelled my head all around to see you, trying to even get a glimpse. Why do you do this to me, pete?

I managed to catch a small glimpse of you, your eyes. They were small like a child's but they no longer held that innocence. You looked sad, too sad for a child but then again, I guess you aren't.

I also caught a glimpse of the scars on your small and lanky arms. They must of been from stitching your shadow back on. Why do you think he runs away, pete? Does he want to grow too?

Hm, I was happy to see you but I can't rethink this. Us. Peter, what will people think? I will be eighteen next summer, with a little boy? Not saying you will come back to me, but I'm hoping. This wistful thinking doesn't seem wistful anymore. Its clogged with worrying.

I guess some part of me forgot you still looked like a little boy,

how disappointing.