X.

I’ve forgotten how to make shapes in the clouds. The soles of my feet are unfamiliar with the soil underneath me and somehow the moon and I have lost touch. Time treads on; time will leave you in the dust and never look back. Always forward. Always full steam ahead. It’s the mundane moments of my childhood I’ve found to miss the most. Laying in the dry grass creating stories in the sky. The smell of wood in the fireplace. My callused feet gripping the bark of aspen trees and only looking up. The silence, the stars, the splinters. What looks ahead is wonderful, is magical, but there’s a glimmer of something in reminiscing. I imagine myself in ten, twenty years looking back at this 27 year old version of me and smiling. If she’s looking back at this version of me, and if I’m looking at her back then, I must be doing something right. And that’s something.