I look back on my childhood with the shadow of a long and run down cynical juvenile. I can’t seem to discard the sentiment that those years may have been the best years of my life. So many things used to be accepted without the need of explanations because they never used to alter in my mind to the conformities of logic and reasoning. I can only look back now lost to time, holding feelings of nostalgia because of the bitter exposure I have been victimized to as I aged. All I see now are the harrowed shells of people shuffling through the life they have come to know. 

so many things lost now ..

the words come with constraint. they don’t come with the same ease as they once did. i’ve questioned numerous times as to why that is, but can never come to grips with an answer that satisfies me. i miss writing, but when i attempt to it feels like it’s for different purposes. it’s like i’m only doing so because i want to be able to write again; because i miss it, when before it was because it eased whatever pain i was going through and helped to untangle the web my mind consisted of. 

i miss this.