A Lost Soul

“I was moving through life. I wasn’t living.” These are the words that haunt my existence. I was young when I heard them from the TV. I was playing on the carpet with my little colorful toys, while my parents sat on the sofa watching their show and ignored my giggles and mumblings. From time to time acknowledging the creations I showed them, and praising my infinite creativity. And then I grew up. I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I was an adult, with my own car, house, and earning my own money.

Time passed me by, and left me empty. Long gone was that bright spark. The thing that fueled my creativity that once was so infinite. My creations, long thrown and locked away. Buried, under the dark and forgotten past. Each day passed me by, so black and white, like a photograph with no contrast.

It was only when it was too late when I remembered how it felt to feel. Too late to bask in the sunshine; or hear the birds sing; or only to stand still and let the wind whisper to my ears. My hair once brown, turned white, my skin and bones so fragile and old, walking and laughing were so hard, and then the pain made me feel cold, and I was gone.

-A Lost Soul