I was once a child.
I was young and I was unafraid. I was energetic and misunderstood. I was frail and far from fleeting.
Then I was taught to fear. I was taught to doubt; to be understood; to stop; to resist.
These things make me look like less of a child- they cover up the strength of my youth with the arthritic nature of adulthood.
I wake every day to wipe the dust off my cape and to fight the fowls of responsible living.
Though I reminisce of the good times, when worries weren’t and fears hadn’t been forced, I’m not intending to leave this world for that. Responsibility, the virtue, is indeed what i just called it: virtuous- it is good. Do not allow it to rise to your chin, let alone over your head. Please, never find yourself in a place that believes that responsibility means never being irresponsible. There are things in this life that are supposed to be treated irresponsibly. Do not be wise friends, do not be careful, do not consider- just do. For your own well-being, please allow yourself things to be free. Free of binding agreements, free of arrangements, free of everything.
I don’t know which things are to be treated without responsibility but I pushed to believe that there are some things designed for rest- “rest is responsible” I’ve heard that said before and though it was intended to mean that it is good to rest, I choose to hope that it’s the absence of responsibility, of commitment, of obligation.
This child, that I was is now still a child, hidden under the weights of my current constraints- be them chosen or forced.
This child, that I was is now still alive and well. This child is coming closer to my heart. This child is finding freedom from responsibility.
This child is finding himself in my words. This child lives in my fingers. This child is what’s speaking now. Asking to be uncovered. Asking to be released from the constrictions of this adults agendas and calendars.
I feel confused sometimes, as if what I write is not what I mean. Or if what I mean is not what I write.