Green Crayon

I remember when I was a little child...I doodled on the walls with a green crayon, made inartistic pictures that somehow made the fridge door, and ran and played with my friends. The bruises I faced, the scars I obtained, the hardships I endured...so many tears were shed!

Yet now I'm older and wiser. I've got a job, I deal with stress, and when I burn myself on hot metal that had literally just come out of the oven, I don't cry. I don't wince. I don't rush to my parents. Yet I'm still young, and I'm still stupid.

I'm still that little boy I used to be, but instead of green crayons, now it's forgotten dreams. Instead of a fridge door, it's an empty photograph. Instead of cuts and bruises, it's burns and tears. But time and patience- those are the marks of one truly willing to grow. So I take up my green crayon once more, and begin to draw.