There is no pill to take that will suffice the awful void that occupies my every pore. I want to be a child again when all the world is yours for the taking, instead of the world taking you. Bright eyed and tiny fingers pressed against the window watching the world exist on the other side of the looking glass. I wonder.
Children dancing in the park is romantically reminicent of my youth, when my days were filled with nothing but hope, instead of dissatisfaction and the taste for something more than what life has fed me.
Children that have yet to be heartbroken or broken by a lack of heart; known to war in and outside their homes and themselves; that have yet to find out how lies to others and more importantly, themsleves, become first nature, upon securing their identity. Instead they dance carefully inside the luminous glow upon the perfect grass as the evening breeze parts it ever so slightly.
Their mothers and their fathers keep them safe at night until its time for them to leave home and then the world will unleash its tongue and eat them of everything that once was pure and innocent and made some sense. The way it did once to me.
I relish in the fact that one day someone will wrap their arms around me and tell me everything will be okay. The way a parent nurses their child upon a fall and scrape of a knee or an elbow.
But today is not that day.
Neither will be tomorrow.
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