Empty.
Broken.
All because
of a choice I made
years
and
years
and years
ago.
When I was a child,
my worst fears
were scraping my knee
or getting stung by a bee.
I wish I could go back in time
and tell myself
that there were things much worse
than a little bit of blood,
or a little pinch
of pain.
Now,
my worst fears are
losing a job,
losing money,
losing.
But I cannot deny,
I am still scared
of bees.
Maybe,
just maybe,
there is still a child
stashed somewhere within me.
When I was a child,
I lived in the future.
Bad days came and went,
but still,
I was excited.
Excited to try again,
excited to try something new.
The past and the present
dragged with boredom,
but the future was undiscovered,
exciting,
magical.
I live in the past
reminiscing about my childhood,
basking in its pleasant warmth,
the warmth
that will never,
not even in a million years,
disappoint me.
When I revisit my dreams,
my laughter,
and my smiles,
I feel
the comfort
of
home.
The past
shows me that sometimes,
drowning in memories,
whether they are
waterfalls of emotion,
or recollections vivid with color,
can bring
the same amount of joy
as the original experience
itself.
Sometimes,
I wish I were still a child,
free and adventurous
in a world filled
with opportunity.
But now,
there is a new adventure,
a new purpose,
and I know that adulthood
never takes away
possibility.
Once, I was a child,
reckless and free,
and now,
I am older and wiser,
but
the child inside me remains
and will remain
forever.
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