Remembering

As I am now,

I am 19-years-old with no agenda to my name.

There is nothing to make up for my life,

Except a harsh knowing reality 

That I,

Am no longer young.

However, on a silver moon and a blue sky,

I can feel my senses when I was five.

The soft shapes squish against my rigid teeth.

Cardboard bricks stack together neatly,

The smell of a gallon bag infested with withering crayons.

Creaking swing-sets,

Crinkled popsicles, 

Sparkled stickers,

Nauseated bubble gum medication.

I miss you.

I miss the blind happiness I had

The way scents lingered into my senses

The plush welcome of a friend

The automated voice of a secret diary.

I mourn my child