Eight years is actually quite a significant portion of my life. I’m only eighteen, though I’m often mistaken for older.

My father has often told me that the only thing that some people have upon me is experience…

I know this to be true…
…and for the most part I realize that I am just the correct age for this time in my life.

A couple of weekends ago I met this guy. (See you knew there was a point, eh?)

And this is where the 8 years comes in…
he’s that much older than I am.

I guess I made an impression, though I wasn’t trying.

You see, I got tired of of the stupid games people play, dancing around with gags on their emotions,
dancing around…

I might want to date you
I might want to make you a good friend.

The guy got my number from a mutual friend
who is dating someone who has known this guy for many years. See? it’s all still connected…

He called me…long distance
and asked me out. I had a great time. And so did he.

But the truth is…

I’m afraid.

I think I’m afraid of losing my heart
I mean, I’ve never been in love.
Never had my heart broken (though it has been bruised).

He’s so much of what I want.
But I am reluctant.

…eight years…
What will my parents say?

…eight years…
All his friends are getting married…
or already have.

I’ve warned him to move slow.
To take into account how old I am.
No matter how old I seem to be.

But…
I think I’m afraid…
to feel too much
or fall too hard…

Slow…
I’ll move slow…

Eight years…

Is that the barrier I have to overcome?


Originally published on Olio.