Perspective Deflower

Perspective Deflower What would I see through these eyes that are essentially the same, yet not so much the same, considering the twenty years that trickled by?  Those unending gaiety that somehow never seemed to fade one slightest bit, despite the some of the roughest years that now lay in between me and my youth, have me perpetually at a carefully measured distance with expressly narrowed eyes.

Not that I do not trust the memories nor is it that I deny the fact that they did exist and were in fact the best years of my life, but to put them in perspective and thus set in contrast, they appear unreal.  They offset my present years to a point where my here and now showed up to be unbearably dark and dismal.  Were they my life, the essence of my life?  Or is this my life, the reality of life?

Golden haired nymphs blurred my vision, laughters, gowns, water slides, summers, school and prayers, what could I have asked for more?  Dark shadows of strangers brusquely brush by me now, with their disconnected and unassociated glances, uncrossed lives swarm in bits and pieces around me.  I stumbled, I fumble between jobs and making a living, commuting between 9 and 5.  I no longer know what innate feelings are, I no longer know what it is to laugh abundantly.

Am I supposed to have wizened through the years, to finally stand and project afar and vague into the horizon yonder, not to possess any of the comings and goings that had been swivelling in and out of my life to heart?  What of the love, what of the disdain, what then furthermore, of the hatred?

Roses are red and violets are blue, childhood echoes chime in as easily as before, yet are they still true?  Are the roses still seeping red for you, and are they, are the violets for you, still as brilliantly blue?

 

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