Those Different Days

There was a time in my life when I was different.
Maybe it was the world that was different or maybe I just perceived it a different way.
But none the less, it was different.
There were subtleties in the beauty of things.
Colors seemed to be more vivid and the sun was a brighter shade of warm.
The sounds in the streets seemed to echo melodically and the lights danced in the night sky.
But the people were different as well.
Creativity ran across canvass and paper like raindrops across glass.
The kindness that laid in gestures was more apparent and honesty flowed with less obstacles.
But things have changed or maybe I did.
Maybe I forgot to adapt or maybe I ended up adapting to well.
I find myself forgetting words that would easily come to me or not catching the beauty in a woman’s smile.
I find that I care a little less and distrust a little more.
I want to see the things and feel them the way I once did.
The way I did with the ignorance of innocence.
I miss those times and I miss what they meant and what they stood for.
But with days that pass, I feel I miss them less and what they meant and what they stood for slips away from us all.