Sometimes we wish... Wish to go back.
Back to a time when everything was pure... Back to a time when everything was new... Back to a time where days were never blue.
How could this thing... This perfect thing.... This perfect concept of thinking... This perfect imagination, become cramped with realities.
With truths. With lies.
We line up desperately, waiting... Waiting to get out... Waiting for the day we can do what we want... Waiting for the day we can leave.
The more we grow, the more we know... The more we want to go back... Back to the day when we knew little and imagined more. Back to the day when sweets and hide and seek were all we needed.