Tag Archives: Cranberries

Never Grow Old

28 May

She raced around the house in roller-blades.

She sang out loud in the street.

She picked icing off the cake the whole way home.

She read her book sprawled across a trampoline.

She danced to Madonna in her bedroom, when everyone had gone to sleep.

She ate half a pack of crackers and the last gherkin.

She helped herself to a handful of cherries at the market “to check if they were ripe”.

She drew a smile on her thigh, making a pair of eyes out of her two black bruises.

She was thirteen, and she was the best example of freedom that I had seen in my life.