to my inner child

I wish I could talk to my younger self.

I'd gaze at her naive smile and starlit eyes, bitterness welling in my chest when I think of the pain she will go through.

How her eyes will grow dull.

My hands look too small to carry that weight and yet they do.

But still, I'd kneel before her and with tears in my eyes,

I'd hold her close to my chest and I would whisper, "I'm sorry."