Why did we ever grow up.
Why? Just why?
To slow down the swing from its full zenith. As it comes to a gentle halt. So devoid of any joy. To stop to Nothing worth holding on.
Why did I ever get off? I should have held on to it longer, tighter. I should have swung higher than ever before and then higher than even that.
I should have jumped off right then. So I could not have felt the drudgery of leaving the swing behind in the playground.
Why did we ever grow up?
To think of mud as something filthy and dirty rather than see it as a world of possibilities; amazing things that it could be when we ploughed it with our tiny, nimble hands. Mud pies, melting castles or just something to squish around.
It would somehow find its way to our clothes and hair and faces and those joyous smiles peeking from underneath that grit and grime would be reflected in our mother’s when we would come back home with stories of our labours.
Why did we ever grow up. Why?
To not see your dear grandfather’s loving smile again. His booming laugh. His soft, wrinkled hands. To not smell his clothes that always reminded of powdered babies’ heads. To not be loved so unconditionally by anyone ever again.
Why. Did we ever grow up.
To wait for an unending hollow of merely existing. To yearn for a moment’s relief. A moment’s unhindered rest. The carelessness lost beyond imagination; of nothing to worry about in the world.
To look back on those golden days. And weep at them slipping through your fingers. Those days when all you ever wanted, was to grow up.