I was gaseous infant, then liquid child, from that was born solid youth.
Now I am fragile, a crumbling adult watching it all solidifying faster than past can hold.
I am learning to know myself, but I don't want it to be so, I'd rather revert back to a liquid, free-flowing, and happy.
Gas gave me trust, but he burned it, set it all ablaze. As liquid I was free to roam as I wanted, I'd become aloof, distant, lying to myself unknowingly. He was two matters; between gas and solid, his hands warmed my structure and I'd be gas once more. Clues dashed upon variables, broken and tired from naive effort, he wasn't matter at all, though he mimicked it. He was sublimation, an anomaly in love with itself.
When I learned to stay as liquid, my gases coalesced around objects I could reach. Constants amidst a frequency of unknowables, I'd feel more than see. School, it was a warm place, there I could remain as liquid wanted to be, free and uncontained. Filling in what I was given, I latched onto any chance to forget the coming fear. Drops of that prior state dribbled as I left one safeness to the next unsafety.