The soul of the naïve maliciously burns in beautiful orange flames.
But why is being vividly alive to the point of creating art always compared to fire whears feeling dull is compared to ice?
Which naïve person came up with these frames?
Feeling nothing can become another naïve 's paradise.

...The naïve always miscounter the unwise,
they believe their beautiful lies,
let them burn them up with excited gleaming eyes.
Oh, don't I miss being naïve! How naïve indeed!
This whole poem might sound cliche and even worse: absurd. But Oh believe me: This is the mere truth!

I miss summer. I miss running in the hot summer days only worrying about my ice cream melting too fast.
Ironically enough, I've hated the couple last.
I miss the irresponsible summers, just being a kid. Being "uneducated".
I miss not being judged, overlooked, and underestimated.

In no time at all I became an adult.
In no time at all I became the most dull person I know, what a result!
Questioning my existence suddenly is a religious insult.
If I was doomed to let go of my naïve dreams, then how can I exult?