Sometimes, you give up on something you used to be fond of.

Me Reading it: vocaroo.com/i/s1lGou2RQ5bM

Sitting by this sill I hear, a melody, so colorful, flowing through the wind.
Something about it lightens my mood, moving my legs I thought were pinned.
A chorus so familiar, a refrain I thought had once ended.
Last time it was heard, my family told me it was splendid.

How could a passion so fierce so easily be shunted?
Practicality forms an easy cause.
A talent such as mine, surely it was always wanted.
Yet, free was just an applause.

Out this door I run, searching for the source of this sound.
Past the market I used to play, a place only us had found.
Down the stair steps I leap
Towards the river bend I spot a young girl fast asleep.

Stop and stare, mouth agape.
An image of myself, past coming back, not one I can escape.
A rush of memories collide with the present.
Forlorn are the times I now lament.

The girl, me, wakes up and looks towards what I have become.
A smile, grinning, opens mouth about to sing.
My voice I had heard, one that had gone numb.
Vigorously I join in, a chorus as bright as spring.

To give some context to this photo and why I chose it. I did this 7 years ago with a LOT of help from a person that is still one of my best friends (I mean like, she basically held my hand for maybe 100 hours). She walked me through this and I started writing because of this drawing. I gave up writing for about 6 and a half years.
Now, here we are; I am writing again.