From Baka-Tsuki

When I was young, that piece of metal was my treasure.
Bulky, rough, small, only functionality.
The silver piece was cold, and to my memory, holding it tightly hurt me.
Click, and it spinned the beginning of the day half way.
Click, and it spinned the end of the day half way.
The young I felt honored whenever I heard the sound.
However, whenever I heard the sound I could feel my eyes water.
Click, click, once at the beginning, once at the end.
It would circle around a day, and it repeated circling.
Circle and circle, never tired, never complaining.
Half joy, half sorrow. The days it circled without a surprise were like the signs of barbershops.
But the endless days ended without a warning.
The silver piece was only cold — no joy.
If I held it tightly, I bled —– no sorrow.
Obvious. A piece of metal is a piece of a metal. There is no fantasy.
When I became 18 who knows reality, the piece of metal was no more glittery.
Then I realized, that becoming a grown-up is selling fantasy for wisdom.
Because I thought doing so was so premature, I thought the fact was something to be proud of.

/Paradox Spiral