The Writer as a Young (Wo)man

When I feel lonely I search for
Photographs of famous writers
Always when they were young
To imagine what it may have been like
If we met while we were the same age
Maybe at a party or on a train
Sitting at a bar and reading
Back hunched over
Beer in hand
Maybe watching out of the corner of our eyes
As the other pulled out a pen and paper
Descending into an air of immortality and mystery
I never look for the aged photographs
The ones where they were already wise
Had learned to forget the naive ideals
Of young people who’s primary occupation is
The writers who’ve accepted their gift and
Already spoken with death
Laughing, all the time, in gray eyes
Knowing that what’s done is done
That’s all there ever is to it

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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