I Can't

I want to go back.


I want to proudly wear a dandelion chain across my forehead.

I want to skip over the foot bridge that Johnson's creek trickles under.

I want to catch more sunbeams and freckles on my face than ever before.


I miss the sound of the ice cream truck in July, and the little, blue house on Maple.

I miss Grammy's canned peaches and catching wooly-boogers in the field.

I miss the taste of cotton candy on my tongue and the softness of footie pajamas.


I don't want to grow old.

I want to go back, but,


I can't.