by Dieu


It’s strange to think
before I was me,
you were you
and you were young.

Perhaps, you wandered
the streets of your city
and you dreamed
of meeting a boy and of
finding the truth
behind your imaginings.

You could only imagine
happiness and the
seasons of your youth
as the ongoing river of today
leading to the mountains of tomorrow
– forever an upward climb,
but nothing impossible.

I am strange, for
when I see the girl you once were,
the tears start to fall.
And, yet when I look at you now,
my mother, who is a little more frail than the girl in this photograph,
but still beautiful,
I look and I smile.