/lit/ - Literature

Years pass and yet it feels like you could reach back through the decades to live your childhood yet again. Frozen memories like a sea of glass that fragments the more y,ou concentrate. Adulthood is not what they promised -- your peers are either still children, blind to the realities of the world; or soulless automatons with all the joy sapped from their gaze.

You gaze into the stars and feel time slipping away from you. Sizable portions of your life sunk into meaningless minutia; you wonder when your peak years are going to come... They promised that being a young adult would be full of fun and experiences, but it just feels empty and without sincerity. It's as if the magic the world held as a child died; taken away to some distant farm and put down for it's capital crime of naivete.

You've forgiven your parents. Eyes open to the realities of the world you see them for the fallible beings they are; triumphs and failures blending to create a sort of admiration. Is being an adult realizing how much of society is playacting and niceties? You don't know, but you do know that those warm, glowing emotions you see people laugh with; glowing embers enjoying eachother's warmth; you know they don't exist for you. You've been doomed since your formative years to be different from them. By genetics or will of god you don't know, but the end result is redundant.

You will always be apart from the masses and it terrifies you. 'What if I wanted normalcy?' you wonder. What if I wouldn't have chosen this?

As has become a recurring lesson, nothing answers.