If I were a child again, I would learn to draw worlds from lines and curves of dreams

If I were a child again, I would learn to draw worlds from lines and curves of dreams, To breathe life into paper with colors intertwined in a silent and pure symphony, But as an adult, I don't even know how to draw a boundary between desires and reality, Letting the outlines fade into the fog of days that pass relentlessly. If I were a child again, I would learn to say "no" as an incantation of freedom, To protect my soul with gentle yet firm refusals, like the walls of a fortress, But now, as an adult, I struggle with my own hesitations, a battle of politeness and fear, Unable to refuse, burying myself in promises I cannot keep. If I were a child again, I would learn to maintain order in the chaos of play, To carefully tend the fragile gardens of intensely lived moments, But as an adult, I have only learned to unravel things, to leave everything in disorder, Trying to find balance on a thin thread of desires and regrets. If I were a child again, I would learn to let go of what no longer fits, To let the wind take memories away like the leaves of late autumn, But as an adult, I cling to candy wrappers, to small gifts, Kept as relics of love, fearing to lose what once was. If I were a child again, I would learn to truly live, to breathe joy, To dance through days without worries, to rest under a sky full of living stars, But as an adult, I merely survive, with nights of broken rest and shattered dreams, Searching for meaning and peace in the tumult of a life always on the run, always uneasy. If I were a child again, I would learn what is truly necessary, essential, So I wouldn't have to unlearn what isn't mine, to shed the false ballast, To grow with a light heart, untouched by useless burdens and hollow dreams, To embrace life with the pure innocence and courage of a beginning without end.