We used to draw our dreams

in multitude of colored wax sticks,

the rainbow’s possibilities.

As time stealthily passed by

our aging bodies,

our hands grew tired of reveries

and threw the crayon boxes

in the pit of immaturity.

We work and earn money

as we lost ourselves to the expectations

of a strict society filled with standards.

Until we felt the stress crawling

on our haggard faces,

we decided to pause and breathe.

Then, we returned to the box of memories

where our scribbles were buried.

We dug them up, removed the dirt,

and slowly we smiled.

Now we remember the reasons

why bliss is in the hands

of an ignorant child.


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