once.

we used to talk about what we wanted to be when we grew up.
we were astronauts, or artists.
tourists or thieves.
but now that we've gotten there,
i feel like nothing is the way that we dreamed.

our hands,
they have grown.
bigger, stiffer, colder.
they don't seem to fit like they used to.
the don't seem like they could form the future out of clay.

our eyes have now looked at the world
and seen something less magical
less perfect.
more real.
and now, when i see your face, and i look into your eyes
i know that they too are tainted.

i know that you are still the boy that i once loved.
and i know that underneath the calluses you still have those perfect sweet hands.
but i can't help but force my eyes closed
and try to remember everything that we had promised the world would be.