The younger version of me,
was still scared,
And shy
It loved more
whole heartedly.

The younger version of me
looked at life with rose tinted glasses
It looked at the world with doe eyes,
loved even when it bled in tryst.

The younger version of me,
was soft,
It couldn't hurt what killed
It still is in there somewhere,
But now,
It doesn't come out as often
It has grown tired
So it screams,
shouts and lashes at anything
that causes dismay.

Now, It doesn't let
others walk all over it
It may
seem cold.
As the spring inside
was tested with time
And now frost covers the land
That once was filled with sunshine.

The younger version of me
is not dead
It just has aged, with time.



© she_writes