"Mum, do I look pretty?"
"Yes, sweetheart, you do."
It used to be simple.
Yeah, I look pretty.
When was the last time you truly thought that?
And believed in it.
"Dad, my blue pen is broken."
Tears followed.
That was the biggest problem back then. And by the end of the same week, you had a brand new set - bigger, brighter, even more beautiful than the one before.
And so you started drawing again.
Whatever came to mind.
You wanted pink clouds? Then the clouds were pink.
And when you sat outside, and you were watching the bugs and the ants they could talk to you - of course they could.
Why wouldn't they?
Who taught us that ants and beetles can't speak?
That clouds can only be pink if the sun hits them just right - early in the morning or late at night?
Why don't you ask anymore when you'll finally arrive?
You still can't sit still, but that's not the point.
We're always on the move.
We never really arrive.
A new love. A goal reached. A deep late-night talk with someone who truly sees you.
All of that can feel like arriving - for a moment. Maybe even two.
But what comes next makes you sway.
And to keep your balance, you take a step.
Sometimes forward, sometimes back.
And suddenly, you don't like the way you're standing anymore.
Why?
You're only inches away from the place you once loved.
But it's not the same anymore.
So you take more steps. Left. Right. Forward. Then right again.
But it's no use. You can't find your old place.
So you start walking again.
How far you'll go this time?
You don't know yet.
Each time it's different.
At first you're not used to walking.
You stood still for far too long.
The view hasn't changed in ages.
But eventually, you start to enjoy it.
You like what you see.
Pink clouds. And ants that talk to you.
Maybe.
But walking makes you tired.
It's exhausting - not arriving.
But life in general is that, too.
Exhausting.
The lightness you once had,
Even when your blue pen broke -
It's gone.
Your mum still tells you you're pretty.
The difference is, you don't believe her anymore.
It's not that simple now.
You no longer run barefoot over stones to your best friend to show her the great leaf you found.
Now you walk like this -
In the shoes you've been given.
Sometimes a stone presses.
Sometimes you have to re-tie the laces.
And the leaf you once proudly kept in your room?
It's dried up a long time ago.
YOU ARE READING
Plucky Thoughtfullness
PoesíaIn the world we live in, thoughts get lost. Not because they want to disappear, but because we're too afraid to think them. Some are naughty, some forbidden, some simply unwanted. We don't want to think them. We can't. We don't have the time to. We'...
