and she sits alone at the window, looking to the outside world, reminiscing of a time long ago,
when she was barely eleven years young.
she’s thinking of a boy she left long ago, a boy who’s memory plagued her thoughts every time she saw the old swing in that park that’s old and overgrown now.
they used to meet at one o’clock every saturday, away from the prying eyes of younger brothers and sisters who wanted to be grown-up like them, who wanted to be eleven.
the musty smell of memories haunts her; she wants more than anything to see that boy again.
the boy who stole her heart and in return had his heart broken.
like the broken threads of the faded friendship bracelet they both said they’d wear forever, but never did.
eleven years young.