Little Pieces

Youth

At twenty, the world feels vast yet constricting,
like a road I've just begun to tread,
and already I'm weary.
The playgrounds that once echoed with laughter
shrink in my mind,
once vibrant, now mere ghosts,
while the weight of tomorrow drags me down,
heavy with silent expectations.

I thought answers would greet me,
thought growing up would feel like arrival.
But it's more like wandering—
lost between who I was,
that bright-eyed child still reaching for the stars,
and who I'm supposed to become,
an adult draped in uncertainty,
cloaked in self-doubt.

Nostalgia clings like a shadow,
pulling me back to simpler days
when dreams felt tangible,
when life was a canvas waiting to be painted.
Now, standing here,
the days blur and bleed together,
and the finish line feels like a mirage,
always just out of reach.

What's wrong with me?
Will I ever find the way?
Will I stumble through this darkened maze,
searching for a flicker of hope,
for a place that feels like home?
Each passing year is a haunting reminder,
an echo of what could have been,
and I'm left grappling with a past
that feels both close and impossibly far.

The freedom of youth is tainted—
each choice a weight, each failure a wound,
and I wonder if I'll be left behind,
adrift in a sea of dreams that drown.
For now, I walk,
one foot in yesterday, one in tomorrow,
and in between, I learn to accept
the hollow ache of growing up,
the bittersweet reality of slipping away,
the unfurling loneliness of a journey
that feels both familiar and foreign,
longing for a light
that always feels just out of reach.