Picking up the current,
wiggling in the breeze,
dizzy,
like the swaying tops of trees.
Bringing me me back
back to a time when this made sense,
all made more sense.
When scotch tape smelled like Christmas,
and I was touched inexplicably
at the perfection,
of slightly undercooked pancakes.
When family meant
never having to stay past the time,
of engaged and loving house guest,
a romance between,
familar strangers.
When lying was easy
to keep up the apperance,
that you really were as happy and well adjusted,
as your mother said you were.
Memories of boredom,
plauged
by magic.
Childhood.
Where are you now?
Do you still infuse me somewhere with your wonder?
Or are these longings only the memories of a feeling,
lost forever.
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