I regret growing up,
getting older and forgetting
the warm embrace of childhood.
I regret simply agreeing
that once I am a certain age
I must forget running barefoot
and climbing my favorite tree.
I regret even thinking
those hot summer days
wearing a sleeveless striped shirt
were ever even childish.
I miss the feeling of hot sun
and the combination of sweat and dirt.
The late sunsets and bittersweet sticky
fingers simply brought to a halt.
Those grand empty fields,
where I once saw great armies,
are now just empty fields.
To stick my head out the window
and feel the wind on my face,
to see the blue sky
and white clouds,
was once the thrill of a lifetime.
It is now just a forgotten memory.
I regret ever thinking
about how people would judge me.
I forgot about my imagination
and instead,
Gained some heartbreak along the way.
I traded the innocence of childhood
For a thing called \u201clife\u201d.
And yet,
I\u2019ve realized
that my biggest regret of all,
was ever having a regret
in the first place.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I regret growing up,getting older and forgettingthe warm embrace of childhood.I regret simply agreeingthat once I am a certain ageI must forget running barefootand climbing my favorite tree.I regret even thinkingthose hot summer dayswearing a sleeveless striped shirtwere ever even childish.I miss the feeling of hot sunand the combination of sweat and dirt.The late sunsets […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_editorskit_title_hidden":false,"_editorskit_reading_time":0,"_editorskit_is_block_options_detached":false,"_editorskit_block_options_position":"{}","_themeisle_gutenberg_block_has_review":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"art_contributors":[],"literary_contributors":[427],"class_list":["post-5662","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","literary_contributors-conrad-l-f"],"acf":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5662","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5662"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5662\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5739,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5662\/revisions\/5739"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5662"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5662"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5662"},{"taxonomy":"art_contributors","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/art_contributors?post=5662"},{"taxonomy":"literary_contributors","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/literary_contributors?post=5662"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}