In the soft embrace of nostalgia, I wandered back to the streets of my youth, my footsteps retracing paths worn by the innocent glee of my childhood. I returned to Bleecker Playground, where decades had folded into mere whispers of time, I stood, silent, recalling memories that seemed as if they came from another lifetime in some forgotten dream. The carousel of life had continued on, seemingly without me, reflected in the vibrant eyes of the children around me—carbon copies of my own young, curious self. They were radiant with the unbridled joy of life, their hearts pulsating with dreams yet to unfold, just as mine did, now forty-some years ago. In their laughter, I heard echoes of my past, laughter filled with hope, and boundless possibility, reminding me of the days when the world was full of wonder.
The child who grows up an outcast and different is the one who daydreams beneath their own special tree, of castles and kings and fabulous places far far away, who will ultimately go on to be extremely successful at life.Thomas Slatin, A Little Ghost For The Offering
November 14, 2023