The street dust and dried leaves meandered with the wind, whoosing sweaty pedesterians as the sun went down. Their eyes were watching their steps carefully, as though scared of tripping over something that only existed in their minds. Perhaps there were something more going on in their minds--hunger, betrayal, love, lust, anger, sadness, yearns: an amalgam that culminated into confusion and stagnancy; repetitions over repetitions; pointlessness. Yet forward they marched, driven by hope for something they have been pining for since the day they repressed the children in them. Gone, jaded, tired of life, but still persisiting to wake up and sleep as the sun rose and set. Days gone as new days arrive, all at the same time--how does that even work?
I looked up into the sky--light blue layered with pink, purple, red, yellow, and the cottony white clouds with their silver linings, now baked in apricot hue. It was the time of the day when everything looked like a water color painting--a harmony in chaotic brush-strokes, strangely unfathomable, but simply beautiful. Then a child within me arise, stretching a smile upon my face, teaching me that colors of the sky change everyday; they have never been the same as yesterdays or tomorrow. I knew it, but I wasn't aware of it until I perceive it with my full consciousness.
You can't watch the same world tomorrow as today.
The more I pursue adulthood the further I stray away from it. I suppose the only way to be an adult is to accept the child in me as part of my "self." It is not childish--it is pure curiousity and courage to explore and embark on a new journey everyday, allowing my consciousness to see, to learn, and to evolve in every sunrise and sunset.
Okay.