Memories of Youth

Jiyu Hong

They say that curiosity impresses lines upon one’s face, but strangely enough, I’ve never seen such lines trace yours.

They mark every fragile soul that passes by in coffee shops and parks where you walk your dog, but your own is unmarred. I’m fascinated.

Whenever you bend down to stare at the odd weed pushing through sidewalk cracks, the trees sway with you, or perhaps the wind is bending for you. Riders on bicycles trace paths around your small body that’s huddled up. Your limbs are tiny but the atmosphere around you radiates with warmth.

Now, I look at your face in the mirror, and I wonder when these fine wrinkles have appeared. I’m certain that they didn’t exist a few years back. I touch your skin and feel the littlest bit of sag from cheeks that were once full and red as apples

II.

They say wisdom comes with age, but I’m sure that you’re wiser than I. I’m sure you’re chiding me for missing your youth right now, how you’re thinking that I’m wasting the waning time on Earth I have left.

But to some degree, I’m sure you relate. While I miss you, you missed younger versions of yourself, never realizing that you were at the moment, the most beautiful you would ever be

My, I would give anything to see you prance about the streets in your ridiculous hats that were wider than the extra-large pizzas you had when your friends were over, washed down with a few bottles of alcohol mixed with juice because you can’t stand the bitter taste. Those friends are long gone at this point, but I wish that you’d still throw oneman parties.

III.

They say that you never lose the spark, but I think I gave mine away some time in the past decade. Somewhere in that stretch of time, I started to feel my joints ache and my legs wobble if I stood up for too long. You’d laugh if you saw me now, but I don’t think you’d feel ashamed

I hope that I donated mine to a spontaneous spirit like yourself At least that way, I’ll know that it’s being put to good use Don’t worry, I might have given up my energy but my heart’s still going strong.

I haven’t lost everything, not yet. I’ll still water the overgrown basil plants in the sodden pots out on the front porch, and I’ll still hum the melody to your favorite symphony when I feel restless. Throughout the week, I’ll write stories using your imagination, and on Sunday afternoons I’ll bake cakes.

I’m glad you found the time to return to my memories, even if it’s been a while since I last called you. I doubt you will have missed my old face, but I greatly missed yours.

I remember you when I feel the weight of my body sinking into the couch, my burdens and regrets diving with me You used to tell me that I filled my head up with too much fluff, that my mind was littered with unnecessary scraps.

I’ll be forever grateful that I can see you in the reflective surfaces of water, on the gleans of windows of shops we frequented.

I hope you visit more often, my long time friend.