coming of age

When I have more hair on my chin than you, white and curly and coarse, will we still giggle like pre-pubescent chumps? Look at each other from the sides of our faces? Speak in groans and pocket chocolates and eyes locked? Will it be easier to kiss you or just as hard? Will I forget Hazelwood Avenue or just small things like where we're going in the middle of a trip to the supermarket? I could do that, forgetting the small things, forgetting names of products, the day of the week, the year, my walker—you'd remember them for me yeah? Cuz by that time, we will definitely be telepathic and we will look at each other and laugh with our eye crinkles and be remembering that time when we were twenty-two and still living at home and playing ping pong and fooling around. If I was all alone, it would not even matter, no it wouldn't, for I would forget that, that small thing that I was alone, I would be remembering the different details, more important ones, I would be remembering these moments, these days with you and everyone I love. It would not be so bad, in seventy years, to have only memories to hold onto, not be so bad, to remember only this.