and in the moment the cold breeze hit my face
it spoke to me.

i missed the blue sky with the clouds that watched over us
i missed the green of the grass in the park where we used to play
i missed the bikes we rode
i missed the sidewalks we ran as if we owned it

i missed the stories we made
the ones where we were the protagonists of our own adventures
remember those?
we used to be soldiers in the field
then we became time travelers
we even sailed in places no one knows
we were the giants of our land

everything was happy
everything was glorious
it was worth being sentimental
it was worth missing a place i never knew

*why does fiction taste better than reality?