Little Pieces

Twenty

I used to think the world was endless,
that life would hand me answers
like prizes waiting at the finish line.
But now I stand in the shadow of twenty,
and the gold I thought was so close
fades into dust, slipping through my hands.

The playgrounds felt like kingdoms once,
stretched wide beneath a boundless sky,
where time was slow,
and dreams were only as distant as tomorrow.
Now, even the air feels heavier,
the horizon shrinking into roads
I'm not ready to walk.

They say youth is freedom—
but freedom is messy,
and the weight of not knowing
presses harder than I ever imagined.
I once believed I'd grow into the person
I saw in daydreams,
but now, I feel the years pull at me,
unraveling the certainty I used to wear.

The medals I chased after
have rusted in the rain of doubt,
and the glory I thought was waiting
feels more like a whispered promise
that never quite arrives.

I used to laugh at the idea
that I'd miss these years.
Now, I wonder if one day
I'll look back,
not with longing, but with relief—
that this chapter, with all its sharp edges,
is finally behind me.

And yet, beneath the weight of it all,
there's a soft ache,
a yearning for the simplicity I left behind,
for the careless days
where mistakes weren't so permanent,
where the future wasn't so close,
and youth didn't feel so fragile.