House of Childhood by Nataša Benedičič
House of Childhood
Nataša Benedičič
I would rest in a secret garden
Watering my unsaid thoughts
For they had no other place
Since they were “too much”
Waiting for life to unfold
Like a flower before me
With unplanned moments
Yearning to arrive where I belong
Little knowing that some people
Search for their purpose all their lives
Constantly feeling they bloom in the wrong places
Loving things that never love them back
Growing pains were a certainty.
That I was becoming an adult
Yet a part of me wanted to hang on
To the zest for life, a two-year-old holds
Childhood is like building a house…
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