There is a place I used to love to visit

There is a place I used to love to visit.
It is far away from here, but seems even farther now that I haven't been there for so long.
All the colors have faded, even the bright greens of the back lit leaves.
The blues of the laughing sky as it slides down to the sunset edge all pink and high pitched.
All of it is gray now.

My mind's eyes are colorblind.
They can't see the place the way it really is; my mind's eyes never did, since my own eyes took the helm when I touched the damp loam and wondered against the mystery of the inner forest.

My mind's eyes are lazy.
They tripped off down the hall and slept under a pile of dirty clothes on the floor while the rest of me explored and discovered and breathed.

My mind's eyes are forgetful.
They don't remember why it was I loved that place so much.
I should probably get back there to see it again, that would help.

The questions that run through me, the "what if's" hold me back as if to say, "Let it be forgotten, that place isn't the same anymore. What if they've bulldozed it? Why waste your time?"
Which is, of course, a good point.
I wish I'd known then, that last walk through the forest deep, that it would be my last time there. I'd have taken a lot longer and woken my mind's eyes to make them look hard. One last time.