waxing lyrical

As I look at the little dude from my horizontal perspective,
lying in the quietness of the night,
sharing about dreams and the future,
it dawned,
I was fast running out of time.

If all goes as dreamt,
maybe perhaps we'll leave together,
no more going insanely wild in a foreign land with my bro as my roomate,
no more yucky food because I got a chef in my house.
Then again,
maybe perhaps we're going to be worlds apart,
leaving the rest back here.

With impending knowledge of departure and leaving,
brings forth seas of nostalgia,
makes one appreciate and cling.
I thought deeply about the literature,
my personal answer,
I'd rather know when I'm leaving so I can say my goodbyes,
I'd rather have a dateline so I'd know when what is priority.
Now I know, then what?

He has such a defiant maturity that I somehow never knew.
I stepped into my sister's room once and saw him coaching her with the academics.
He described his brood of brotherhoods as "fun to be with" but snotty, arrogant and impossible to tolerate their personalities.
How he's been isolating himself, forlorn in a study group, just being focused.
The profession he professed his interest in pursuing,
jaw dropped, I pat him on the shoulder in disbelief.
Thinking, how pathetically shallow my passion would be next to his.
But yet swimming in so much pride,
so much confidence in him,
while pinning needles of hope on him.
How come I never realised?

Looks like old souls runs in the blood after all.