We all carry an inner child within us,
A part that yearns for the days of innocence,
When the weight of the world didn’t exist—
When playtime on the swings was our only concern,
And the worries of life were a distant dream.

I miss those moments,
The warmth of my mother’s touch,
Her fingers gently weaving through my hair—
A simple act, but it was a promise,
A promise that I was safe,
Untouched by fear, untouched by doubt.
I remember lying next to my parents,
Falling asleep with no fear of shadows,
No fear of the world beyond the door.

But that time has passed.
And even now, when her fingers graze my hair,
A wave of sorrow rises in me—
A sharp, unrelenting stab of reality.
I feel the ache of childhood slipping through my fingers,
And the weight of adulthood pressing down,
A burden too heavy to bear.

I long for that safety, that peace,
But now, the world demands so much—
Endless things to worry about,
Questions with no answers,
Like I’m trapped in a cell,
With no escape from the chaos
That consumes me, piece by piece.