Sometimes, I just want to be a child again. To run for the sake of it, to scream at the top of my lungs in gut wrenching anger, in unfathomable elation. I am so scared that I will lose that connection, that vitality, that honest need to be free of it all. I want to look at the sky and see fantastic kingdoms, animals exotic, names of which haven't been documented yet. I want to see the world in brilliant chroma, the likes of which could not be duplicated on paper if one tried. I want the world of hurt to merely exist in the form of skinned knees and bruised pride, the kind which can be lovingly soothed by the cadence of a mother's voice. Life was easier then, mapped out by parental restrictions and playground etiquette. There was no judgement, no artifice, for we were too foolish to try. Today, I find myself envying the fools, wishing to trade in my opened eyes for ignorance, because sometimes, the road less travelled is significantly less appealing. To hell with all your sayings and proverbs, because, just for today, the path of least resistance is looking especially good.

To hurt is something words cannot describe, as there are simply too many hurts to characterize. I welcome the skinned knees, the scraped chins, because they are tangible, physical and real, something that becomes a badge of honor in the form of a scar and a good story. This internal struggle is something else entirely, a black hole that opens and closes on a whim. There is no scar tissue to follow, visibly assuring us that we're healing. Instead, it is a creature all its own, seemingly caged but prowling along the bars, watching and waiting for the moment that we are too distracted to properly lock its door. Its eyes are much too sharp, its movements too perceptive. It draws from our own existence, feeding off of broken hearts, self doubt, insecurity, expectation. In the innocence of youth, these things don't exist. The words are too big, the syllables too much for a young mind to contain, explain, retain. It's a sieve, discarding the unimportant while desperately holding on to the awesome. The smell of a mother's perfume, the feel of sand between one's toes, the exact elation of stepping off the bus when school lets out for summer. Those are the days of invincibility and super human strength, and I was both of those things. I could catch any boy in Tag, and friendships were temporarily won or lost in the heated competition.

I miss that. I miss being invincible, I miss the ability to discard the unimportant and the unexplained, because second guessing is a torturous game. We are so sure of ourselves in the haze of youth, we know things. I knew I was left handed, I knew I didn't like jello, and I knew that Mrs. Reese always smelled a little bit suspicious. I want that back. There are times that I'm even unsure of my general existence, because questions fill my mind. Sometimes I don't want questions, I don't even want answers. I just don't want it. I want life, untethered and pure. I want those clouds to give up their act and return to their original state of extraordinary, and I want the color to flood my eyes once again, for this matte is not what I am made of. I want LIFE. Vivacity, Crazy, Sexy, True. And just for tonight, I want the path of least resistance.

g.