I want to be that kid again

I want to be that kid again. The kid who used to run as if his legs were going to fall off if he slowed down even a bit. Who, when he fell down while running and bruised an arm or a leg or even broke a bone, could simply get up again, shrug it off with a few cries of “mummyyyy” and run again with the same enthusiasm. Now, when I fall, I either bruise my ego, my pride or break my heart. And I just don’t feel like getting up. Forget running again.

I want to be that kid again. The kid for whom laughter and smiling meant the same. Whose laugh and smile both reflected in his eyes. Now my laugh dies at my lips. And I don’t remember the last time I smiled.

I want to be that kid again. The kid who slept during the night, dreaming of the possibilities of the next day. Who looked forward getting up every morning to something new. Now I lie awake during nights, not waiting for the dawn to break, but for the night to end.

I want to be that kid again. I want to run, to laugh, to smile, to be happy again. I want to dream again. To look forward to something again. I want to live again.