When I was a child, I couldn’t wait to grow old.
Adulthood looked shiny, like stories I was told.
I thought time moved too slow, like the clock was stuck.
Minutes dragged on, and I was always in a rush — no luck.
There was too much energy bottled up inside,
Too much adrenaline I had no reason to hide.
I dreamed big — bigger than my tiny hands could hold.
Pass school, get a degree, earn money, be bold.
Buy a house with a view and windows wide,
A sleek car to drive with no need to hide.
Travel the world, cross oceans and skies,
Take pictures in places where dreams never die.
That was the plan — simple, solid, and bright.
I never once thought I’d be losing the light.
Then came my teens, and I started to crave
Not just adventure, but someone to save
Me from the silence of chasing alone.
A partner to walk with, to build a home.
We’d explore the world, side by side,
Laugh in new cities, cry when we tried.
I imagined love like a fairytale glow —
Strong, sweet, constant, something that grows.
Then came my twenties, young and fresh-faced,
A new kind of hustle, a new kind of race.
A job in my hand, a little bit of pay,
Support the family, do what they say.
But somewhere between meetings and midnight tears,
I felt the drift of forgotten years.
The dream I had as a child? It changed shape.
It started to crumble, started to escape.
I wasn’t building castles or chasing stars.
I was tired and confused, staring at scars.
Going with the flow, but the current felt wrong.
I was afloat in a life that didn’t feel strong.
I smiled in photos, I laughed with friends,
But deep inside, I questioned the bends.
Then a few years slipped by, and thirty knocked.
I opened the door, but I felt more blocked.
Stuck in a job that pays the bills,
But doesn’t feed the soul or give me chills.
No house, no car, no romantic affair,
Just me and my thoughts and this vacant stare.
Time moves fast now, a blur in the wind.
The days are nameless, where did they begin?
Sometimes I don’t even know what day it is.
I just wake, work, rest — that’s all there is.
A routine, a loop, no color, no song.
Just existing, surviving, dragging along.
I’m not depressed — not exactly sad.
But I’m not alive the way I once had.
I’m breathing, yes. I’m living, sure.
But with no dreams to chase, I’m not so pure.
Not driven by purpose, not lit with fire,
Just wandering roads that never inspire.
Then one night, I sat down in silence,
Faced the mirror with a quiet defiance.
I asked myself, “So, what happens now?”
But the mirror stared back with a furrowed brow.
No answers, no plan, just the echo of space,
And the tired lines shaping my face.
My mind drew blanks, no grand designs,
No perfect path, no well-drawn lines.
But amidst that fog, one truth remained,
A whisper inside that softly explained:
I may not have it all figured out,
But I’ve lived enough to know self-doubt.
And maybe I don’t need to rush ahead,
To fix the future or mourn the dead.
Maybe it’s okay to slow it all down,
To walk without knowing where I’m bound.
Maybe joy’s not in the prize at the end,
But in quiet mornings and calls with a friend.
So here’s where I land, shaky but still,
Not chasing dreams, but sitting still.
Not waiting for a sign from the skies,
Just learning to live without disguise.
No house, no car, no love to show,
But I’ve got breath, and that’s enough to grow.
I’ll wake tomorrow and maybe just smile,
Take one step, walk one more mile.
One day at a time — not more, not less,
No pressure to perfect, no need to impress.
Just me and this moment, raw and real,
Learning how to feel what I need to feel.
So no, I don’t know what happens next.
But I’m here, still here — and that’s progress.
by Edd 202504120007