Sometimes I wish I was a child again. I wish that someone else was there to take care of me and fix all of my problems. I miss the hand that retrieved everything from the higher shelf. I miss the fingers that tucked in the bed at night. The shoulders that carried and the arms that held. The world was a magical place filled with infinite possibilities. It was possible to grow up and become whatever you wanted. The summers sprouted from ice cream, lemonade, and children playing in the sun. Winters were all hot chocolate, blankets, and snow angels. There were no big expectations on how to live. There was no deep meaning behind the words, “living out your life.” There were endless sunsets and infinite stars. And always someone there. Someone to hug and to hold. Someone to pick you up when you fell and to carry you to bed at night. We were all so quick to grow up. We wanted to be the ones making decisions and reaching the highest shelf. We wanted to be free from the hindrance of having to be taken care of. I wish I had no bargained this away. Thrown the right to be taken care of out the window from which I used to stick my head out into the wind on those long childhood car rides. I wish I did not live in this world of worry and hatred, of ignorance and anxiety. We traded away our lives of sunshine and stars, of swings and slides, all for the opportunity to make our own choices in life. But the stress comes with these choices and the worry and the pain. I miss the days when laughter was as countless as the stars and worries infinitesimal. When nothing mattered except playing and grass and sun and leaves and butterflies and snowflakes and family. The sun rose over the morning and the moon rose over the night and the stars kissed your forehead to sleep. There were books to be read, songs to be sun, smiles to wear, cartwheels to perform, insects to chase, innocence to have. It was all so innocent. Not a care in the world except that the moment in which you were living would disappear too soon, before it was replaced by another equally innocent moment. I used to love the stars before I learned to be afraid of the night. Sometimes I wish I was a child again.