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