Hilda


Charlie Woeste
2 minute read
i was too young to keep up with time sitting in Hilda’s lap while she brushes her hair i was too deaf to care for her words my eyes on my sneakers as her whispers faded away my blissful hums glazed over my thoughts my mind, too naive to draw lines between dots i was too small to think in past tense to cherish my seat on her lap and when I’m forgetting I’ll try and remember when there was no where else in the world