Life is all about moving on.

First you’ve got to move on from milk to solid food
From a crib to a real bed
From staying at home to going to school
From crayons to pencils and pencils to pens

At some point you move on from your body and your childish ways
You move on to new responsibilities and adversities
You move on from people, from places, from ideas
You move on and on and there’s no stopping
No one told you how to
No one even told you if there would ever be a way

And I guess that it works this way for a reason
We’ve moved on to pens but the crayons are still there
We can always go back

The magic, however, will be gone if you hold a crayon with ink-stained hands
There’s always the reminder that you’ve been there, done that

Many times I’ve wanted the “moving on” to stop
I have washed my ink-stained hands with bars of soap
I have gone back to people and places
I have tried to repair mistakes

When I look down at my hands
A blue crayon in between
A white piece of paper underneath
The ink stains are still there
The ink stains will not go