Growing out of the simple Things — Summary

I used to pretend I was playing hide and seek My hands were pressed against the window, eyes wide open The sun winking at me through the treetops Letting me get oh so close to finding him before darting out of sight And as I sped past him, the bright sun drifting father and farther away I swore I would return tomorrow and find him, just you wait! I used to race against the moon I was on wheels, my hair flapping erratically like the wings of a moth And the moon seemed to glide, bobbing up and down, deftly navigating the stars that seemed to obstruct her I remember sticking my tongue out at it as I overtook her, leaving her to bite the dust. That was an age where imaginairy friends were humored And real friendship was simple. I grew older, watched my friends drift away from me Thinking that I would've taken a bullet for them if they'd ask me to I let my fingers feel the emotions I refused to hide from Let the ink bleed through the cracks and imperfections And somewhere along the way, my playdates were left behind Perhaps they really couldn't keep up with what I was becoming Or maybe they had other innocent kids to race after Or maybe because the sun was no longer an elusive friend, But a a majestic figue of glory, a muse to all those seeking inspiration Maybe because the moon was no longer the jolly sportive playmate But a regal queen, her violet robes glittering with jewels of the sky Maybe innocent simplicity was the cost of complex poetry And I couldn't help but wonder if it was a fair trade-off Even if I wanted them back, I couldn't regain what I'd lost The intensity of gold against blue still burned into the back of my eyelids The bedazzled robes of purple and silver swept across my vision How foolish was I to assume that they were every bit as glorious as they seemed.

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The speaker looks back on a childhood when the sun and moon were playmates. Watching from a moving car or on wheels, they imagined hide and seek with the sun and a race against the moon, even sticking out their tongue as they "won." Friendship felt just as easy then.

As the speaker grew older, friends drifted away, and the speaker began feeling things deeply and writing them down. The sun and moon changed too, becoming a glorious muse and a regal queen instead of games to play. The speaker wonders whether the friends left because of who they were becoming, or simply moved on, and whether "innocent simplicity was the cost of complex poetry."

The mood is wistful and a little lonely. The speaker doesn't fully regret the change, since the images of gold, blue, purple and silver still glow vividly. Yet the last line, calling their own assumption of glory "foolish," leaves a sense of doubt about what was gained and what was lost.

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