In Twenty Years

Twenty years from now, that light will vanish. Replaced with more flickering ones, the kind that you see in parties. But those branches around, they will still be there. Not them, exactly. Not the ones in there are at present, but their sons and daughters and probably a few grandkids.

And that girl, who never ceases to look up to the light every time she passes by it, she'll be older. Twenty years from now, she'll go from the young girl who chased her shadow around to a lady in heels coming home from work.

And that boy, who always bask under the light's glow, he'll grow, too. He'll no longer be the boy who swatted fireflies winging around the post. Instead, he'll be a man coming home from a mean day's job.

Who knows, maybe they'll end up walking under it together.

Photo by: Oblivious Dude