Memories of the trails on the backs our hands.
Growing each day,
Digging in sand.
Skin on skin and the nights I can't forget.
It's good to be young.
Too young to regret.

I miss the days where nothing mattered at all,
And now all I can think about
Is how I could fall.
I miss the days where I could talk to the trees
And imagine the world
As if they'd talk back to me