Some things are no longer celebrated.
The passing of years just the culmination
of memory and the wondering of where
things went wrong and why we never become
whoever we thought we would; and yet -
we cannot bring this person to light,
this dream-shape of aspirations and longing
that seems to want to be better than
we've been - richer, surely, and with a home
to call one's own: all the little things that
parents achieved and, as time moves inexorably
toward 30, you see as vain hopes far away.
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