527. 25/5/16 (#519)
Fresh cut grass baked in rare sun,
Streaks of pale green beneath my toes,
The smell of year five break-times,
When we'd run and throw and build houses from cuttings.
I remember when we'd pretend,
That we know far more about life,
Passing notes and giving subtle gifts,
Hints of made-up love.
We'd ask if we were born wrong,
If we should play football or with skipping ropes,
And we'd laugh at little things,
And we'd care about the world.
These days the world's on hold,
While we take and stress about exams,
Outside is a waste of time,
Until we take the time and breathe.
Breathe in the smell of a time I loved,
A time when friends were everything.