Such a concept that escapes me because I am not a child, far from a child. replaced instead by a sense of dread. The world no longer inspires me. I see no wishes in the dark.
When I grasp a clump of dirt I do not ponder whats it’s for. The tiny beings that live within. Most likely crawling onto my skin. I see it for what it is supposed to be. A patch of dirt, no mystery.
I am an adult, nothing childish within, but if I was to bend with a tiny friend and search the innocence that they see. I think, just a bit, that a part of me might