When I was younger I dreamt of seeing snow. I dreamt of making snowmen and making snow angels. Laying there until the cold touched my skin and embraced my being. Now, I dream of the sun. The warmth of its rays coating my skin. Wishing that the heat that used to surround me in joy were present again. Oh, how far that little girl has changed. The child who dreamt of snow, who glowed under the sunlight. The girl who dreamt of cold and winter, now gone. Maybe the sun burned her too much. Maybe the cold she now feels replaced the warmth that she basked in. Maybe the little girl is still inside her, keeping warm provided by the tiny sparks left of the sun in her soul. Perhaps not. But I envy the little girls who dream of snow. For their spirit is as bright as the sun and my heart is as cold as their snow.
the good old days
