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Poem
In the soft glow of December’s muted light,
you gather around the table, memories swirling,
not as bright as they once shimmered in your youth,
but still, they echo—a chorus of laughter fading.
You were wild then, careless as the falling snowflakes,
dancing into the arms of midnight, oblivious to time,
each heartbeat counting the minutes under star-drenched skies,
but now, those moments feel like ghosts, haunting the air.
You aren’t sixteen anymore, and the world has shifted,
like heavy drapes drawn tight against the winter chill,
where mischief once bloomed like daffodils in springtime,
now responsibility gathers like dust in the corners.
Look at how the frost etches lace on the windowpanes,
a delicate reminder of seasons that have passed,
while you sift through fragments of who you were,
and wonder if youth was merely an illusion, a dream.
In the hum of the kitchen, the kettle’s gentle whistle,
you hear the whispers of teenagers, restless and bold,
their laughter rings out, a vibrant song of the present,
yet your heart lingers on the edge of what was, what could have been.
You think of those bright-eyed afternoons filled with promise,
the clang of a high school locker, the rush of first love,
the reckless abandon of tossing caution to the wind,
yet now, those echoes are muted, a bittersweet reflection.
You’ve traded late-night exploits for quiet reflections,
stepping over the threshold of adulthood with grace,
but every now and then, a spark ignites inside,
a longing, a flicker of who you once dared to be.
As you watch the snow blanket the world in white,
you realize December holds more than just loss;
it cradles possibility, a chance to reflect and grow,
to weave the threads of past and present into a tapestry.
So let the seasons change, let time flow like a river,
for though you are no longer sixteen, you are more—
a mosaic of laughter, pain, wisdom, and strength,
and in this moment, you stand, alive in all your layers.
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