those times

when everything felt fine.

those smiles

when nothing was on our mind.

those miles

we ran and ran on our little feet.

those trials

when we couldn’t wait to get older.

as the years went by,

we stopped feeling as much fear

tears were harder to hide by the year

parents’ words sounded like the harsh truth

the skies became less blue

toys formed into tools

my fantasy world became so cruel.

it’s hard to obey by the rules,

but still—

sometimes in my reflection, I see

8 year old me, climbing on trees

running around, as if I’m free

hands all dirty, reckless, carefree.