see that house on the corner? the one with blue shutters. I used to live there, you know. I did. and I had a room. my very own room with lilac walls and smooth wooden floors perfect for twirling and sliding and slipping and huge bay windows, my eyes to the world that I’d draw on some misty mornings and I loved how my fingers could wipe away the blur and I’d look out at the stars and dream. I had toys there, you know. lots of dolls and bears and crayons. sometimes I’d line them all up and sing for them. and dance. and they’d clap their hands and paws and cheer and throw flowers with petals crafted from light-years of imagination and we’d build tents together out of blankets and chairs and tell spooky stories and cuddle when we got too scared. I knew every nook and cranny in that room every creaky floorboard, every crack in the plaster was music to my ears, was a familiar face I knew it all by heart like a song from my princess movies which I loved very much, you know.
then one day we moved. we packed up our memories in boxes piled to the sky and my teddies and dolls cried from their bins in the van. and I stood in the doorway of my empty room just looked around for a while, you know. and there were no tents or dance shows or anything. not even one stray sock. just bare lilac walls and smooth wooden floors I tried twirling and sliding and slipping, but I couldn't. everything I loved was no longer mine. my friends were just absent furniture and toys had they ever been anything more? I thought as I climbed down the stairs older. wiser? and I wondered if maybe a new girl would move in and I wondered if she’d take my dolls and bears and crayons.
I wish more than anything to be a little kid again.