the playground of nostalgia

there are times when I’m drawn to the grass, the familiarity of the green hues often call to me.

the grass where I spent most of my childhood, where I used to question who I would be.

I look back on the days spent in rusted swings, when the future seemed as bright as the gleaming sun.

now, what was seemingly once my future has become my present, I just hope its not done. 

as I stare back at the playground which can only be deemed a window into my childhood, I find myself scared.

I know I’m not the person I once hoped to be, yet time is against me and my hopes have wound up aired. 

it is then that I’m taken aback to stop and question my fate? 

I can’t help but bring myself to wonder— am I too late?