12 years passed by,
With some steady steps,
Some strides,
In between, some sprints and some strolls of pure delight
Alas,
No more line-ups at 8,
No more attention to naiveness,
No more blotted white shirts,
No more rigid 8 hour-long schedules,
The identity we made, the identity we know,
Will some of it be shed?
Some, be groomed?
All I hope is we bloom, bloom, and bloom.
Friendships were epicentre of laughter,
Will we be able to maintain them?
Will we be able to locate them elsewhere?
Ugh, a bouquet full of questions,
I think I will gift them to time.
I’ve already given it one,
To congratulate for the answers I got as
12 years passed by.
~Poorvaja
(Context: I recently graduated from high school)
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