When did a laugh of joy in public start to feel awkward.
When did a cry of sorrow become the only thing that lifts stone off the heart.
When did the blushful smile of a new idea turn to the stress of survival.
When did the delicious shiver of a ghost story turn to the cold dread of falling behind.
When did peace start to mean personal space over a family picnic.
When did curiosity to learn turn to settling for whatever job we get.

I never thought I’d envy young kids —
the way they feel things, fully, the way they were meant to be felt.

I used to think experience taught us how to live. Turns out the children already knew.