I'll never grow up. It used to be my mantra. An anthem against the reality of adulthood, the joy of youth. Perhaps that was my mistake. Was I too obsessed with youth to understand what adulthood meant? The struggles of growing up yet staying the same. Even as I sit and wish for a time that is long gone. The trials of youth seem so simple in comparison to what I now face, the pain so strong it threatens to overwhelm me. Adulthood alludes me as it jumps from my grasp. I am there but I am not. Faced with the lack of knowledge I refused to gain when younger, it will not come to me now for I am too old. Too old and too alone.
There is no hope. Hope is the thing with feathers and I no longer have wings to fly. My wings were clipped as my dreams were grounded. No longer could I soar up into the stars and see the world. What use are wings in a hopeless world? What use are dreams? One has to eat to live and one has to work to eat. It becomes a never ending cycle. I look to find rest but it has hidden itself from me. Is there truly something called rest? It is a farce, just like life. Tricking you into believing that there is more than apathy.
Surely there is something that would sing to my soul? Is there not hope yet left for me to see? We cannot know what the world holds for us. Perhaps there is time, perhaps I am not quite as old as I could be. Rest will come eventually it is as sure as death. In childhood one wondered about death, the questions swirled around me wondering what would come after. Now death is a forbidden dream, an attempt to give up on what is there. To let go of the cycle and to drift away.
Instead, there is pain. Pain that threatens to take away everything. A little too much, a little too little. The questions may ring out through the dust but they will not be answered. There is no answer in this cycle. To live is to die. Why is there fear of death? Why do we question what we cannot see? The wish remains, to go back but nothing can truly bring us back we are stuck in the present. We are stuck in today.