The wind was a melody I leaned to hear as a child.
But as I grew, it's tune became fuzzy.
Then nonexistent.

Once, the dead dandelion's were wishes.
But then they became weeds.
And a nuisance.

Puddles were small playgrounds sent down to bring me joy.
But then they were just mud and water.
Something *****. Something to avoid.

I could no longer hear the music on the air,
Nor did I look longingly at patches of dandelion's.
And puddles were just... well, puddles.

I no longer found joy in the small things.
And that, I believe, is why there is so many sad people today.
We all forgot what it was like to love life.