Our days

These days of being young and wild,
reckless and rather free
when we go out and dance in the streets at night
when we spend all day in bed hiding from the sunlight: these are the days.
These days when we say
we have no regrets – but we do –
we keep them like secrets
and only bring them up
drunk at wild parties,
when we whisper in ears
when get lost in crowds
when we forget the nights like sweet drugs gone bad: these are the days. 
The days when we run through the city
run through the woods
run though our days like we’re running from
the ghosts born from our forbidden ways;
the days when we can’t wait for darkness,
can’t wait for the sunrise,
when we can’t wait to see someone smile
and pass on a tiny glimmer of hope,
or see what type of surprise tomorrow holds.
The days when we can’t
quite
let
go,
the days when we pray,
when we wonder if God is real,
how the world was made,
if this is all there is:
these are the days.
Days of golden,
days of tears,
days of troubles and days of fears,
days of bright blue cloudless skies
that make you feel invincible: these are our days.

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