forever with fever for days gone by.

by no stretch of the imagination am i old. my youth is both a memory and a dream, saturating everything that my adult eyes see, steering me like a rudder. i think of this more often then ever. the foundation of interests, the discoveries of a child ever present on my current course. i wonder if the dreams my son has now will come to him like deja vu when he is older and beyond the home i've made for us. i know not everyone is so nostalgic, i try most times to think of it like a gift, the ability to hold the past and present almost at equal weight on a scale. sometimes it tips too heavy and i feel foolish for allowing myself to be so consumed with a time i'll never see again, forever with fever for days gone by.

is youth a dream? did i wake from it when my son was born? i often feel that having a child at a young age trapped me in a state of fake adulthood. i wasn't ready to grow up, but the real life weight of single parenthood was hardly willing to listen. i feel stunted in some ways, and old in others. selfish for wanting time in my own head, selfish for wanting time at all. it didn't have to be so black and white, but i made it that way. i think it was easier at the time to quit wanting things for myself.

i buried my dreams too soon. this is just one of the places i dug them up.

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