It gets old. To them, that stuff is still brand new. Still touching the edge of an ocean with a sponge and then running home with that sponge and squeezing it out into a jar. When you're friends come over you can point to it on your window sill and say "yes, that was the time". When you're friends are gone you can open up the jar and pour a little more on your dried up soul and feel rejuvenated. Alive again, like nobodies business. Eventually he'll grow up and realize there is no reason to not unzip your skin and throw your whole body into that ocean. Kids these days. "I was there too, once." Letting go of his arm is harder to do than I expected. It falls limp across my eyes and brow and I let it stay there to block out the fading, bluing, two foot square, window above my eyes. "Then I realized things could get so much better."
