I should have listened to you,
your curls bouncing in the wind
tears trickling down your face.
I wanted to think you were lonely
or looking for love in the rain
rather than wrenching your life from mine.
But who were you?
Ten years my junior and moldable clay
With which I would sculpt into a maturity
that would learn from my mistakes
and know infinite happiness.
We know now, don’t we,
swapped in our places,
you the successful transplant
and I the facetious whippersnapper.