I want to lay in the freshly mowed grass and be young again. I want to take off my shoes and stain my clothes green and eat dinner without washing my hands. I want to go to bed with pollen in my hair and the windows open and the sound of rain. I want to wake up eight or ten or twelve again. But when I wake it’s not right. This isn’t my mother’s house, and nobody is here to clean up my messes. I miss you, I miss you. I miss the way the sky looked before I grew tall and the sound of my voice before it grew tired. Take me back, just take me back.
