Inner Child

Her naturally golden locks float in the wind whilst my artificially blonde hair entangles itself around my small, hoop earrings.

Her bright yellow raincoat and squidgy pastel wellies leave their mark on the wet grass whilst my dull black boots cling to my feet, lacking in any particular engagement with the surrounding flora and soil.

Her luminous eyes aren’t as sincere as they seem to outsiders but, of course, only I am allowed to know this. Her youthful radiance reigns over her inner doubt and insecure demeanour whilst fear and self-sabotage intoxicate my “adult mind”.

She insists on holding my hand but her grip feels more like a prolonged clasp for life. I reciprocate.

Steadily, we attempt to walk across the field mindful of the passers-by. She begins running around and I watch her every move whilst the purplish sky slowly falls down onto us. She tosses her curls, giggles and the most sincere smile adorns her pale face. Her smile was unobserved, unscrutinised. Instead, I refuse to smile as it would involve showcasing my obvious asymmetry.

As I observed her every skip and jump around the field, I remembered a time when I thought I would have to stuff my youth into a coffin and bury it along with all the curiosity that used to rule over me.

Instead, I now realise it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of or hidden. It needed to be released. At the end of the day, her and I are alarmingly alike. We both need each other; it’s always been that way.

Maybe it just took a while for that to click.

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