Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Once,
the world was stitched in crayons;
lemon yellows, ocean blues,
skies that never ended
and trees that could talk
if you listened hard enough.

I used to run
with arms outstretched,
believing wind could lift me,
believing in magic
found in cereal boxes,
closets,
the curve of a shadow.

But now,
the rollercoaster creaks
where it used to roar.
Books I once clutched to my chest
gather dust
on shelves too high
to reach without trying.

Even the stars blink slower
like they’re tired
of being wished on.

Toys lie silent in boxes
where my voice used to echo,
and holidays feel
less like fireworks,
more like flickering bulbs
you forget to replace.

Yet somehow,
beneath the graying,
the dimming,
the thinning thread of awe,
I stay bright.

Not in the same way,
not like a sparkler,
quick and loud,
but steady,
like the last candle
at the end of the night,
still burning
because it remembers
how much it once loved the dark.

And maybe that’s what growing up is,
not forgetting wonder,
but carrying its ashes
in your pocket,
so when the wind blows cold,
you still feel warm.

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