As I started walking I looked down at my feet. They didn’t look like mine.
So much unfamiliar lately.
The feet I saw were smaller. A little girl. Cute little ribbons on pink Mary Janes. The steps were smaller. The legs shorter.
I didn’t quite understand what I was seeing. Were they part of me, or was I watching?
Running now, over to a park
Laughter, squealing, definitely watching. As the little girl climbed and played, splashing in the mud, erasing any trace of the pink shoes I saw before.
She looked over at me, begging me to push her on the swing. Her big eyes pleading with me to make her fly.
The swings are the closest one can get to being a bird, minus the feathers and hollow bones
Lost in my own thoughts and distracted, she caught my attention again and I went over and gave her a big push
Her pink fluffy dress flipping over her head and making her squeal in delight.
I embraced the moment of silly lighthearted fun and innocence
I often seem to have lost these qualities along the way, even though I long to be back in these carefree days.
It made me wonder how I ended up in this situation, this strange figment of my imagination, or was it?
Was this me getting to experience the little Andrea of the past that never was or the daughter of the future that never got to be