Being sixteen

A memory.

His hand was delicate in mine,

more delicate than I wished it 

might have been; and on his lips

there trembled words untried;

like leaves on autumn trees 

before they die.

And in his eyes I saw such

sweet despair, a hesitation

more than I could bear;

and turning, though as in

a half spun dream, I tilted 

to the gently warming sun; 

then stole a kiss, 

though brief, still not forgot;

sixteen we were, 

he loved me?

Loved me not?

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

You beat Janis Ian by a year..I agree with Ed (hell, when don't I?)--there is a sweetness here, sweet in the best sense of the word, and you've captured the whole bittersweet nature of that time in life in a pitch-perfect manner. Terrific stuff.

[NoelHC]

This is beautifully written Beccy, that uncertainty, that hesitancy, that feeling of not knowing, so strong in our youth, yet it never really goes away, does it?

[Vidya Bacchus]

Affairs of the heart at any age are confusing lol.I really loved how you portrayed this.

[Ed Hart]

sweet as high mountain vistas, and the taste of clean fresh air