cycles

i am on the edge.  teetering on that precipice of mid-life.  it is exhilarating and horrible, both.  cookies and milk taste even better than they did when i was young.  working hard at crafting a fictional life, falling in love with people who have already died, becoming young enough to remember young.  i see t's hands on his guitar and i wonder if there is a girl out there, the girl who will love his hands first, the way i loved the mister's first.  i was looking for metaphors, even then.