That’s my goldfish!

Only…

A little too alive to be my goldfish.

So what makes me think it’s mine?

A passing resemblance?

A significant spot or color,

That felt at home in my memories?

Why is that goldfish,

That fish I’ve never seen in my life,

Why is it mine?

Why do I think anything belongs to me?

They’ve as much right to it as anyone.

I can’t just steal some poor kid’s goldfish

Because I miss the times when I had it.

It would just perpetuate the cycle.

But why does this little girl get to be happy?

She has as much a right to it as me,

And I haven’t found any since I was that little a girl.

What is it they have,

These younger kids,

That with age I’ve lacked?

What I would give to go back…

And I know,

That her goldfish will be dead in a couple of weeks,

And in a few years she’ll be sitting here like me,

But I would give anything,

Just to have that time again.

Even now that I know what lies ahead.