Bittersweet memories, with a tender sting,

Like a sunflower that clings to the sunlight,

When I was just so innocent, so rapt—

Born into a world overflowing with warmth.

The days passed, but the reminiscences stayed,

Of hobbies, hopes and dreams,

Now tucked in drawers of forgotten sleeves,

Bygone, like pages yellowed with age.

Good times they were—the golden phase,

When responsibility was just ink on a page.

When joy was simple, excitement slight—

Like a cold shower on a Saturday night.

The times when the world felt endlessly bright,

Without needing filters or camera lights,

Like scenes from movies—surreal yet true-to-life,

So colorful and rainbow-like.

When skipping a show was the biggest dread,

Not endless deadlines looming overhead.

Oh, how much I miss being that age,

When life was a playground, not a cage.