unwanted prints

--

when your childish box was empty,
sprinkled with nothing but traces of joy,
i always handed you mine,
full of fresh baked cookies

so probably you could get your
stomach full again.

when your papers were so full,
tiny words placed on every stainless page,
i always offered you mine,
blank, white, and new

so probably you could write your
dreams and ideas out.

i was happy, happy seeing you smile
(dear i always am)

but now you stumble,
i glance to you and help you standing up,
and once you regain your balance,
you run, run without waiting for a second,

for a second
so probably i can run along with you,
accompanying you.

--&