A Woolen Blanket

Growing up is like an old woolen blanket.

The threads were once new and fresh,

But are now weathered away,

Tarnished with over use.

Yet, I still cling to that old piece of wool, as

In those threads lies years of loss, love and affection.

So many first times, so many lasts, and yet

Every glance I sneak is filled to the brim with sadness.

Why?

Why am I sad? I am 18, I have no responsibility, no burdens.

And yet, my child-self seems so distant.

A distant memory, a different person.

Maybe one day I will learn to accept the past. Move on with my life.

But, until then, I am cursed with melancholy,

Happy memories seem bitter and twisted, but I know one day,

I will be able to put that old, tattered blanket away.

What are you looking for?