Growing up can feel like being an ant amongst God’s.

It can feel like learning every lesson taught; then relearning them, then learning new over complicated methods that to the boil down to the same thing; then relearning it all. But with every step of the way the results produced are regarded as less quality and the amount insufficient.

Then it seems that we can not only hear, but understand every voice spoken. And we have been like this since birth. Yet we are seen to be seen as obsolete, and always have been.

We can produce no more yield, and neither can anybody else.

This is when we cry; when our worlds flood.

We are now at the precipice of infinity and nothingness, & they have become indivisible.

It only takes one person to hold the other and comfort them, dry their eyes and both world’s land back firmly under our feet again, as if never gone at all.

Who will the one be this time? Will you wait for another, or the other, or will you reach out and pick the child up. At the very least you must pick up yourself.

At 41 years of age, I know that I am still the child that needs picking up, more regularly than I’d like to admit, or that I could even count to.