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.


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