Jun 2015
Yesterday, mom put me to bed
She told me a story, a new one, she said
Her beautiful story was a tasty bait
Yesterday, i was only eight
I woke up with throbs in my head
My pink curtains were so white, instead
But, my dolls still stared the same
They never told me whom to blame
Was it mom who wished i grow?
I saw her dandelions fly, as she used to blow
Or perhaps i have slept for too long
As she sang me my favorite song!
My hair's now longer, my nails are French
I saw the differences on every inch
But, as well as i can recall,
I've never wished for this, not at all!
She told me a story, a new one, she said
Her beautiful story was a tasty bait
Yesterday, i was only eight
I woke up with throbs in my head
My pink curtains were so white, instead
But, my dolls still stared the same
They never told me whom to blame
Was it mom who wished i grow?
I saw her dandelions fly, as she used to blow
Or perhaps i have slept for too long
As she sang me my favorite song!
My hair's now longer, my nails are French
I saw the differences on every inch
But, as well as i can recall,
I've never wished for this, not at all!
One of the saddest sounds in the world is children playing. There is just something about sitting in your room with your windows open, listening to their joy and laughters. It's like there is some sort of magic going on outside that you can no longer join in on. Something you can no longer grasp. A secret club you can't remember the password to. And you realize that you've grown up.
