Each night, when dusk fades and the horizon yawns wide to devour the sunset, I become a boy. Where once I was a man: earning my keep, plying my trade, and heeding the grind of that life I so much distaste, I then become a boy. Giddy and anticipating what will come. I yearn to play. To run and shout and tumble and make great waves throughout the night. I want to build forts, make music, make-believe, and stare at the stars. Yet the world slumbers, as men, and I feel so alone. So lost.
Wistfully, I yearn. The click clack of the keys and the pitter patter of these fingers as I idly pass this time. I feel like a caged animal. My mind races with the overzealous curiosity and meanderings of a boy in wanderlust. Yet the man takes over. Responsibility overcoming the young boy’s jubilation. And then he sleeps once more. Waking an adult again.