Legal

18 years old. The day I’m considered by our society to be an adult. It’s strange, no matter how hard I fought to retain my childhood, it slowly slipped away from me. Year by year, second by second.
The plane of my mind wasn’t always this barren, a wasteland. My young self, untroubled by life, used to swing and climb trees in this very same mind. Back when it was green and lush and fantasy fruits used to flourish on thought-trees. My psyche was a paradise.
But that’s all gone now. Time to walk away from the memory of that inviting old tree and the luster of naivety. 18 has brought a new era to this mind, one where all illusion and hopes have long since migrated to another child’s mind. And all I’m left with is a cracked, barren wasteland, the gnarled remnants of a tree I once called hope, and a rotting swing of disillusionment.