The Writing

I met you when I was young. Far too young to know you and far too young to like you. When my naivety made each malicious act a shock. When the words love and beautiful were used often, but meant nothing.
Far too young to call myself a man, let alone a boy.

I met my father when i was born. Far too young to know that I was his reflection. Far too young to know that I was him.

I met my brother when he was born. He was far too young to know that I'd be his older brother, his role model.

I never met someone like you. But I wish I had. For maybe you'd be the one to calm me when I was angry, to love me when I was lonely, to quell my pain when I was hurt, to understand me when no one did, and to smile when I hugged you.

Sixteen, hardly a man, hardly a boy. I speak of such words as though I know them too well. But words are words. actions are distant. and love is a word, and an action.

Sixteen years of life, far too young to know who i'll meet, or what will become.