I spent the morning tossing a Frisbee, and my worries along with it.

I soon found myself swinging to the sound of

forgetfulness and nostalgia.

My childhood memories danced at my feet,

but with out stretched arms,

only my fingertips graced their excellence.

The touch sent the memories of crawdad fishing and tree forts

tingling up my spine.

The me I used to be

boiled in my blood.

When wet grass and free time were enough.

When I wore scrapped elbows as jewelry and the fresh wood scent

decorated my body as perfume.

Back when my dog was my best friend and I had yet to realize

that wasn’t okay.

“Ignorance is bliss,” they chime.

I know.

I don’t want bliss. I want life. Brutally beautiful, if you let it.