Many days have passed since I was young.
As  a child, I was optimistic, pure, and loving.
Keen, curious, with a passion for making things better.
Everything could be shined over, cleaned, polished, loved.

I don't know anymore, where that child went,
Though often the cynical angry adult in me misses her.

But I face the facts that where I desire more than
Everything, or anything in the world to make it
That much better, and to heal the hearts of
Those lost that I love, I just can't do it anymore.
Everything I say seems hollow, fake, and horribly plastic.
Reality says that I just can't make it better anymore.