My eyes staring back at me in the mirror without seeing a
reflection of a mask
My shirt unbuttoned and my hair lose, just to appreciate my
rawness
The tender skin of my cheek resting on my knee
Being under the tall, lush tree in my back yard
Appreciating the smell of late spring filling my senses
Walking barefoot on earthy pavement without feeling any guilt
But these things do not compare to what I miss the most
What I miss the most is an understanding of who I am
An intimate relationship with my own heart and mind
Playing in the wild jungles of the world instead of
searching in them
Loving who I am as I did when I was small
When I was small, I feared nothing; not even myself.
That is the thing I miss the most.
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