Returned Innocence

As I continuously circle around my decision to return I quickly decide that I never left. Once again I find the present and start again. Fear tells me to run, so I walk. I do not step fast or think slow but embrace the moment to instinctively feel a familiar path that once was. I enthusiastically open a door that once held freedom within.

The mechanical clock behind tells the same comfortable story, and the familiar faces show the same hour of hope. Every curious piece looks exactly as I left it except my eyes are now open to the possibility of everything. Each primary dwelling has the limitation of every infant mind walking through the obligation of the structure.

Thousands of unspoken thoughts are stack one by one in a sequence of order surrounded by fledging minds that seek individuality within the formation. As the row of singular heads struggles to look up from the involuntary glow of progress, I wonder which thought lay behind could lift them from conformity.

Each outstretched hand holds the potential to return, and every elevated seat can feel a cold dark cage or a green field to wonder. I ponder what was and what has become. Peace is the only path I project into the formation of the clock that circles within the silence in the horizon.

Returned Innocence

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