Gone are the days when we played hide and seek. The nights we held hands so we could be seen, the days we played in the rain until we fell sick; yet we were present in every moment like we never sin.

Now I wake up with questions, thinking of the past and worried about the content of the future. I thought these self-medications would help me sleep yet, all they do is make my mind slip. The structure of the mind won't let me free, and its content won't let me sleep, so the present has become a dream.

I thought reality was just as the stories I was told, but as I grow old, the truth unfolds, and all it does is leave me cold; how do I speak of the heart when I do not know what mine holds? Indeed, as we grow old, memories are all we get to hold; this I know.
© Ddawnofpoetry7