Ink SpillThe lost sense of wonder.
As a child, we see the world with wonder.
Every sight is new, we spend hours imagining shapes in the sky, our pupils are filled with delight at seeing the sea for the first time, we've got a whole world of fruits and dishes to treat our tongues with, we see people from young to old and they all come with different shapes and sizes, it feels like the world is enriching and there is a whole swoosh of possibilities waiting to be explored!
Then we grow up.
We don't look at the sky anymore, those clouds are not lions eating bananas or the Sphinx doing a backflip, they're just clouds.
The beach is kind of fun until you get bored, food is delicious but they all kind of taste the same after the first few bites and we’re trying to lose the weight anyways, and not all people seem too fun when you're older, from people carrying baggage trying to dump it on the first ear that will listen to them, to people who don't like your hair, skin, short, pants, face, or just your existence. It feels like we'd want a break from people, not with people.
It's as if something has gone stale, your heart, eyes, and ears got fermented from the corruption of this world.
Your sense of wonder buried deep under layers of mud made from dust, hate, greed, and sin.
Oh what I'd give to crack that black tar of mine.
Oh what I'd give to have back my sights of innocent pure childish wonder.