Sometimes I'll remember what it's like to be a child,
A fleeting moment of magic or wild imagination.
My chest aches with the loss of my youth;
And aches again knowing it only lives in memories.

As a child, I could have been anything;
A hero fighting mythical beasts, or
The mythical beast that terrorises my window sill.
So far I am neither.

There is a certain freedom in running as a child,
No obligations to start or stop.
Adults rarely run for no reason;
I find myself limited to a brisk walk.