Young, Summery Ignorance
They say, young people do not understand love. They do no comprehend the rigors and the trials love brings. But never have I seen teenage summer romancers blossoming into bitter divorcees, battling each New Year’s Eve with projectile glassware.
Instead, they hold a perpetual romanticism about these forgotten loves, the ones that weren’t real or serious or hard. No deep resentment hides within them, only the residue of a humid hope that died in August. Never hate, though– never loathing. Of course, I am young and do no understand love. Perhaps sleeping in different beds is part of what all that adult-known mystery entails.
Posted on October 2, 2012, in Blogging, Fiction, musings, personal, Writing and tagged adulthood, Derek Berry, Love, musing, poetry, summer love, word salad, writing, young people. Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.