There come to be many things we miss as we grow, that so painfully I am enlightened of today.

On rides:
I miss the slow passing by of the world. I miss feeling how this is me, predestined to trudge along this path, feeling how little I am in comparison to the world outside. I miss watching the leaves go their way; the people, their destinations; and rain, their drips and splatters. I miss merely waiting for its arrival at my stop.

Now the thought of going forward taints my thoughts. I see only what I will do once I reach, down to the very minute. Many a time instead of waiting for the kind old bus I will him, with all my mind, to go faster. Flusteredness scratches in my heart, I can no longer wait. There is no time, no heart to wait.

On walks:
I miss the cool walks of almost a long time ago, the walking on - to something I love. From around seven thirty will promise two hours, sometimes longer, of joy. Where I could smile at the possibility of seeing you, smiled at the thought of feeling the cool night breeze on my sweat laden back later, two hours after. I always wanted to catch up, and when I almost did, you were gone.

Now the walks have gone, only old paths remain. The Fall, at my peak, was planned to teach me a lesson. I struggled and grew, but now with its abscence a piece of me went away and never came back.

On types:
I miss the poems, stories I'll weave in my sorrow, time I'll allow no matter the pressure pressing in. Now they are gone, the words the want to write the stories I used to see. They disappear, along with time, and again a piece of me.

On people:
I miss so many, so much of each I can barely dare to formulate these into words. The innocence and trust we used to hold on to, the people I love, where are they? They were beautiful no matter the imperfections, like mist in the morning, but now broken by the afternoon sun.

On continuing:
Everything else is too much, too much to bear. Lord, help