Brighton, Part Two
washed out pictures
from my window.
seagulls migrating,
like I never knew them to.
because the days are grey in this thing
they call a summer town, in the middle of summer,
where the sunlight is but magic and rainbows
shimmering from every Tom, Dick and Sally strutting by.
but, I suppose,
this is adulthood. And with it is an
oh so adult sadness and longing,
I suppose.
Never would I had thought
my childish sensations would shatter.
To be replaced by
alcohol
coffee
meaningless friendships
minimum wage jobs
O the magic impending light.
