Sunday Scribblings: Now and Then

Now I stand on the brink of beginning my 31st year.

Then I was small, trusting and excited.

Now I am wary, subdued and unsure.

Then life was interesting - day upon day of new things to learn, friends to play with and dreams to dream.

Now I face my days with a sense of apathy, a stilted sense of time and broken dreams litter the ground around me, their spines broken and their innards spilled onto the cold and unforgiving earth.

Then I would have scooped up the broken bodies of my dreams, wrapped them in a warm blanket and prayed desperately that they would survive. Perhaps they would have.

But now I don't even try to pick them up. Death is a hated old friend of mine and I have come to expect its clammy hand to reach out from the darkness unexpectedly to pluck the things I hold dearest from my arms.

Then I would have cried, pleaded, looked for "God" to help me, to believe in me, to make it okay.

Now I expect nothing and get less. "God" is a big empty uncaring sky and I've lost any belief I had in serving Him, Her, It.

Parts of me are dead inside, now. Perhaps the parts that were the most alive, then.

Now, I don't think it is hopeless. Sparks of me then are in those almost dead dreams now. One or two of those dreams can be scooped up and nursed back to life. I have that much inside of me now. And who knows? Maybe one or two of those dreams will survive and thrive and change my life.

Now wouldn't that be something?