wear and tear
June 19, 2010
I browse through old photographs of my youth and I try to remember– try to feel what it was I felt in the pictures. It’s more than just nostalgia. It’s a poor man’s time machine that I’m quietly and selfishly building inside my head. I can hear the laughter, feel the joy and the innocence that came with childhood ignorance bliss. Not yet had I peered through the seams of a reality created by thoughts such as the grass being greener on the other side of the hill. Not yet had my shadow become the mutineer it is today. Not yet had my reflection become so unbearably agonizing to lay eyes upon that I would soon choose not to recognize it. Not yet had I laid my dreams down as the stepping stones I would use to climb unto higher grounds which they had claimed would set me free. Not yet had I been clipped, caged and allowed to sing the songs which would help deafen the cries that escaped me in the forms of hollow banter. You see, I’m trying to salvage my humanity, but most of the pieces don’t fit anymore. No, sir. Not anymore.
