eight (written yesterday)

this day marks nothing incredibly significant-a child was born.
me.
just like everyday-I mean lots of and lots of children are born all the time.
I'm 19 and feeling my age
-for all at once I am much too old and much too young. I still cling to my toys and games while I'm constantly told to let go of them.
oh, there was a parade for me today.
it came in many waves and stages.
the grand marshall of the parade-the glorious sun-marched in with the soft music of morning. the parade began with quiet breathing and slow stretching-the forcing of my eyelids to open and my muscles to awake. the music grew louder and the sun marched bolder.
a new display entered my parade-containing coffee cups and filtered window light and a pretty girl and some good books and the Good Book.
the wind came next-tossing everyone's hair and peeking up all the nice girl's skirts. the wind blew in happy and whimsy and the celebratory music of tambourines and electric guitars and clapping hands and choirs singing nonsense like "lala" and "da-dee-da" into my day.
with floats and confetti made of sun speckles and old mulch, the parade continued on.
the finale of the parade was loud and boisterous with clashing thunder and rain falling in big droplets. it faded away and all that was left was a soft wind, a clear night, and the hushed footsteps of a long-haired girl joining mine on the pavement.
at the close of the day-for it was just another day: the clock ticked on, you and I inhaled and exhaled-the parade marched on.
down the street to another kid that was born. another adult that's confused. another young person with issues. another girl who feels giddy. another boy who wants to be a man. another birthday.
but that's all good and true and you and I must keep a brave heart.
because, after all,
there was a parade.