Childhood

There is one sentiment I hold on to.

Never ever wanting to let it subdue.

Attached to that sense of melancholia

A whimsical memory filled by a cornucopia

 

of magical stories. Forged in the play fields

with all my friends, some of them real,

and laughter I’d chase till the sun set.

Those were the days that went on. No need to rest.

 

I would run so fast and never turn back.

Didn’t even have a destination, just a soundtrack,

but the freedom whooshing of our play

Turned to madness was the purest of day.

 

We would sit on top of the hill,

not a care in the world. Seeking thrills.

Dried leaves and grass tangled in our hair

making up cloud stories. Look, an elephant there!

 

I had one friend to share all my thoughts with

We could talk too much and rarely be bored by myth

I never felt a judgement or the pressured hum

to become and become and become

 

A concrete.

Some thing. Bittersweet.

 

My childhood memories remind me

no, they comfort me of that time past.

An elation that would forever last,

and moments that seem to drag, and

when everything just felt more permanent.

 

I long to long for these childhood memories with ease