I miss being a child
when mornings felt like unopened letters
and the world waited for my fingerprints.
Time stretched then—
an afternoon could hold forever,
and summer never learned to end.
Fireflies were lanterns,
the moon followed me home,
and scraped knees were small prices
for impossible dreams.
I miss being a child—
not because life was simple,
but because I welcomed joy
without hesitation.
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 9:14 PM UTC
I miss being a child
when mornings felt like unopened letters
and the world waited for my fingerprints.
Time stretched then—
an afternoon could hold forever,
and summer never learned to end.
Fireflies were lanterns,
the moon followed me home,
and scraped knees were small prices
for impossible dreams.
I miss being a child—
not because life was simple,
but because I welcomed joy
without hesitation.
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