When I was younger, I painted the sky. All the blues, wispy whites, blood reds, and yellow-oranges came out of my fingers. and I believed it was true. The sky's light now goes out with a sigh of relief.
When I was younger, I laughed. I laughed so hard the panels of wood in my house caught on fire, glass broke. Now my laugh is forced and the panels look at me, disappointed, give me a one out of 10.
When I was younger, finite didn't exist. Nothing was. There was no past tense. There was no regrets.
When I was younger, I didn't have to fight to speak. Whenever I opened my mouth, my parents listened with childlike intent. Now the words I say are only on paper or typed.
When I was younger, I wanted to save people. To reah out my hand and have it firmly grapsed back. Now it seems I'm not worth being saved by.