One day,
I’ll look into the mirror,
and the stranger staring back
will finally feel like home,
as if the pieces I’ve kept hidden
decided, all at once, to stay.

One day,
I’ll walk through a world
that has always felt like too much—
the noise, the lights, the constant hum of it all—
and instead of shrinking,
I’ll stretch until I fit in the spaces
I once tiptoed through.

One day,
I’ll hold onto someone’s gaze
without that nagging urge to search for exit signs,
like maybe trusting could be more than a rare gift
I give sparingly,
but a habit I wear without second thought.

One day,
the thoughts that spiral deep,
where few can follow
and fewer still remain,
will bloom into words I can say out loud,
without second-guessing the weight they carry.

One day,
I’ll understand that even the messy parts—
the quiet ache, the careful shields,
the perpetual pulse of feeling it all—
are threads woven into something
I no longer need to untangle,
just to accept.

One day,
I’ll walk a path made softer,
the weight of “almost” and “someday” lifted,
and in that lightness,
maybe, finally,
I’ll find myself whole.

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Daily writing prompt

What does it mean to be a kid at heart?

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