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Last night I cried. I wasn't really crying because I was sad, although the tears were tinged with sadness, but I wasn't really crying because I was happy, although the tears were tinged with happiness.
It feels like a big lump inside my chest that's pounding away. It's like my heart is breaking and I can feel every fibre tearing. It's feels as if I can't catch my breath properly.
I've lost something, and I miss it. It's not a person that I've lost, Its not even a place. The people and places that I've loved all my life are still there. I can visit them if I want to. I'm not crying for an object, anything solid that I can properly express, what is it that I have lost? What am I crying for?
Probing at my feelings is like picking off a scab, Its hurts, but there is a kind of grim satisfacation to poking it and seeing it bleed. In the end I discover what it is I have lost. Its the freedom of childhood, the freedom of imagination. I've lost the ability to create new worlds in my head, I've lost the love of playing games in the garden with nothing more than a patch of grass and a tree stump allowing my mind to go wild with possibilities. I've lost much more than that too.
Whan I was a kid all the problems I had which seemed unsurmountable, were easily put right by telling my mum about it. I might have been scared to tell her things, but things were invariably better once she knew about them. peace of mind.
I knew I had a good thing when I was a kid. I knew that I never wanted to be an adult with responsibilities. I couldn't understand why adults never wanted to play games of pretending things. I made a promise to myself that I would never be like that, I would never grow up, I would never forget how to play. But of course I have. I can't recabture that magic that things held when I was a child. I can invent new worlds in my head anymore. My bed isn't a boat floating through the sea at night anymore. I have more important things to worry about
It feels like a big lump inside my chest that's pounding away. It's like my heart is breaking and I can feel every fibre tearing. It's feels as if I can't catch my breath properly.
I've lost something, and I miss it. It's not a person that I've lost, Its not even a place. The people and places that I've loved all my life are still there. I can visit them if I want to. I'm not crying for an object, anything solid that I can properly express, what is it that I have lost? What am I crying for?
Probing at my feelings is like picking off a scab, Its hurts, but there is a kind of grim satisfacation to poking it and seeing it bleed. In the end I discover what it is I have lost. Its the freedom of childhood, the freedom of imagination. I've lost the ability to create new worlds in my head, I've lost the love of playing games in the garden with nothing more than a patch of grass and a tree stump allowing my mind to go wild with possibilities. I've lost much more than that too.
Whan I was a kid all the problems I had which seemed unsurmountable, were easily put right by telling my mum about it. I might have been scared to tell her things, but things were invariably better once she knew about them. peace of mind.
I knew I had a good thing when I was a kid. I knew that I never wanted to be an adult with responsibilities. I couldn't understand why adults never wanted to play games of pretending things. I made a promise to myself that I would never be like that, I would never grow up, I would never forget how to play. But of course I have. I can't recabture that magic that things held when I was a child. I can invent new worlds in my head anymore. My bed isn't a boat floating through the sea at night anymore. I have more important things to worry about
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Last night I cried. I wasn't really crying because I was sad, although the tears were tinged with sadness, but I wasn't really crying because I was happy, although the tears were tinged with happiness.
It feels like a big lump inside my chest that's pounding away. It's like my heart is breaking and I can feel every fibre tearing. It's feels as if I can't catch my breath properly.
I've lost something, and I miss it. It's not a person that I've lost, Its not even a place. The people and places that I've loved all my life are still there. I can visit them if I want to. I'm not crying for an object, anything solid that I can properly express, what is it that I have lost? What am I crying for?
Probing at my feelings is like picking off a scab, Its hurts, but there is a kind of grim satisfacation to poking it and seeing it bleed. In the end I discover what it is I have lost. Its the freedom of childhood, the freedom of imagination. I've lost the ability to create new worlds in my head, I've lost the love of playing games in the garden with nothing more than a patch of grass and a tree stump allowing my mind to go wild with possibilities. I've lost much more than that too.
Whan I was a kid all the problems I had which seemed unsurmountable, were easily put right by telling my mum about it. I might have been scared to tell her things, but things were invariably better once she knew about them. peace of mind.
I knew I had a good thing when I was a kid. I knew that I never wanted to be an adult with responsibilities. I couldn't understand why adults never wanted to play games of pretending things. I made a promise to myself that I would never be like that, I would never grow up, I would never forget how to play. But of course I have. I can't recabture that magic that things held when I was a child. I can invent new worlds in my head anymore. My bed isn't a boat floating through the sea at night anymore. I have more important things to worry about
It feels like a big lump inside my chest that's pounding away. It's like my heart is breaking and I can feel every fibre tearing. It's feels as if I can't catch my breath properly.
I've lost something, and I miss it. It's not a person that I've lost, Its not even a place. The people and places that I've loved all my life are still there. I can visit them if I want to. I'm not crying for an object, anything solid that I can properly express, what is it that I have lost? What am I crying for?
Probing at my feelings is like picking off a scab, Its hurts, but there is a kind of grim satisfacation to poking it and seeing it bleed. In the end I discover what it is I have lost. Its the freedom of childhood, the freedom of imagination. I've lost the ability to create new worlds in my head, I've lost the love of playing games in the garden with nothing more than a patch of grass and a tree stump allowing my mind to go wild with possibilities. I've lost much more than that too.
Whan I was a kid all the problems I had which seemed unsurmountable, were easily put right by telling my mum about it. I might have been scared to tell her things, but things were invariably better once she knew about them. peace of mind.
I knew I had a good thing when I was a kid. I knew that I never wanted to be an adult with responsibilities. I couldn't understand why adults never wanted to play games of pretending things. I made a promise to myself that I would never be like that, I would never grow up, I would never forget how to play. But of course I have. I can't recabture that magic that things held when I was a child. I can invent new worlds in my head anymore. My bed isn't a boat floating through the sea at night anymore. I have more important things to worry about
Page: