Old Spring

10 years later, when I confront you again on a distinctive street, you will take a glance at me in bemusement. I also grin at you. Your eyes will then be concealed with sturdy spectacles, and your hair may forfeit a bit of its density. Still, I will perceive you in that mind-blowing smug grin and the somber hair that has turned white. You too may feel me in the fragrance of my cigar, credentialed shirt and half white beard. Then perhaps there won’t be the same simplistic discourse as a classmate. We will not be briefed by hand, ‘Hey, what’s up?’ but we might converse like a guardian. There’ll be an exhilaration of old memories along with the intense pain of losing an era. We’ll then depart once more. But before disappearing, would there be a faint remnant of the nice feeling from before? Will you be glancing toward me with a youthful being’s smirk and a desire to meet again? It certainly will be. And that embarrassing interaction will certainly draw the scars of another old spring in our lives