My childhood was the most delightful time I ever spent. I was carefree, positive, happy and alive. I was oblivious to the real world that existed. For me there was no problem lasting or serious enough that a simple sleep or song couldn’t fix. No fears no regrets no worries.
I didn’t care about what others thought of me. I didn’t care about college, career, life. I didn’t care whether I was making the right decision (well I had none to make).
But now I do. I don’t want to but I do.
Every time I open an old photo album, every time I find an old class photograph, every time I go back to my first house, every time I come across a kid playing and running I am hit hard by a wave of nostalgia. I almost drown in it. There are tears in my eyes to see the precious stage I have outgrown.
The time when building a perfect sand castle was my only ambition. The time when the doll house was my house. The time winning a race against my friends made my day. The time when playing football in the rain meant the world. The time when my mother read me to sleep.
I would trade the world to go back to those good old days.


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