Unfinished Childhood

It feels like my childhood was a story that stopped mid-sentence,
a song with its chorus left unsung.
Days filled with potential but punctuated by interruptions,
like the pages of a book torn out before the ending was known.

I remember laughter that trailed off,
dreams that got tangled in responsibility,
and moments that slipped through my fingers like sand.
What could have been lingers in the corners of my mind,
whispering of treehouses never built,
adventures never taken,
words never said.

Did I outgrow it too quickly,
or did it leave me behind?
I carry the fragments in my pocket,
bits of wonder, shards of innocence,
hoping one day to piece them back together.

Maybe it’s not truly unfinished,
but a part of me still wonders:
What would it have been like to let it run its course,
to let childhood write its own ending,
instead of fading into something I didn’t yet understand?

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

error: Content is protected !!
Scroll to Top