Echoes of Childhood #

there was a time when i dreamt of more,
more than just what was in front of me.
i wanted to be an astronaut,
a writer, maybe a politician too.
i had these wild thoughts—
i could even be a hero, or maybe a villain,
grand dreams that felt like they could burst from me.

fame, wealth, respect,
they were all within my reach.
i believed that once.
now those dreams?
they’re just stories i half-remember,
fragments of something that used to matter.
i still know them, every single one,
but they’re just old thoughts,
like something i read once but never truly felt.

the spark behind them? it’s long gone,
crushed under the weight of reality,
a slow, cruel pressure. it wasn’t a bad childhood, not at all,
but there’s a pain there, a kind of longing,
something that aches when i think too hard.

every day back then felt like a struggle—
against what, i can’t even say.
maybe against the world. maybe against myself.

those dreams, though, they’re dead now.
they were bright once,
now just gray, fading away.
like flowers wilting in the cold,
their colors draining from memory.
and somewhere, distant laughter echoes—
a sound i can’t reach anymore.