If we could turn back the clock, where should we go back to?
I would like to think I'd wear down the path with my grandma, and the nights she'd spend filling and humbling my immature mind, and flaky heart.. with stories she'd remember from her own times, be it prose, or her experiences. What the old know, and the young only later come to realize, is that it's not the stories you may remember, it's just those times you'll never forget. It's something in the way the old love. With the care of harsh experience, and the recklessness in that comfort.
I'll never not look for you. In every husky laugh, and every crinkle of a page, and every kind smile.
If you could turn back the clock, where wouldn't you go back to?
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