Allow me to recount my affairs with the Mexican circus. Stepping back in time, I found myself as a child, wandering into unknown, whimsical territories. The circus had struck our city, making a humble middle school parking lot, its vibrant stage. A grand tent, mirroring the swirling hues of a spectral butterfly, stood strong, demanding attention. The paths that led my mother to this arcane spectacle remains an enigma, but in her wisdom, she ushered us all to the captivating spectacle. My early years had tasted a glimmer of a circus in TJ, yet the details have slipped through my fragile childhood memory. This, however, was different. This circus swayed my heart with the rhythm of its hypnotic charm. My mind was bewitched, specifically by the act where colorful costumes were altered within the blink of an eye. The circus's thrilling dance filled my young soul with such inspiration that dreams of joining them under the spectral butterfly tent started to ripple through my daydreams. Such a life, though infinitely enchanting, wasn't destined for me. The cosmic orchestra had composed a different symphony for my journey. Nonetheless, the circus continued to pirouette around the states, seeding pearls of jovial memories in the pristine chest of my childhood. An ephemeral respite perhaps, but indeed, a cherished recollection of unadulterated joy and clamoring wonder. The Mexican circus, thus, forever imprinted its fiery signature onto the canvas of my early years.
19/8/2024 @ 1:06 Second Iteration