The Woes of an Old Child

I was born like any other person. At that point, nothing about me was different from you all.

I started life like a normal child; I walked and talked and progressed, and started school at 5. As with every child, I made friends easily at that age. It only took a few words exchanged, a few toys shared, and suddenly there was a kinship.

Preschool passed, as did kindergarten, in that fashion: a question for permission, a permission to sit, a seat to talk, and a talk to become friends. Grade school wasn’t much different.

Then adolescence, and I realized I could not simply ask to sit, for an awkward answer and an awkward silence followed. A small stream separated me from others, but I had only to struggle slightly to reach them once more. I could find them still, if I dug deep enough.

But something eroded that stream into a river, and that river into a sea, and now I find myself on an island. The light has died in their eyes.

This world is still so beautiful, so vibrant and pretty, so why are your eyes empty?

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