I am being beckoned back to a time of innocence, where my fingers were stained with the colors of imagination and my heart was light with the weight of childish dreams. The memories that once danced in vibrant hues now stand as faded echoes, whispering tales of a forgotten past.

I can still feel the roughness of the paper beneath my hand, the gentle resistance of the crayons and pencils as they brought my visions to life. Each stroke was a step into a world of my own creation, a world that now exists only in the recesses of my mind.

The home I left behind holds the remnants of my youth, the remnants of a time when my soul was unburdened by the weight of adulthood. I wonder where those simple tools of creativity have gone, whether they still exist in some forgotten corner or if they have been discarded without a second thought.

As I ponder the fate of my childhood treasures, I feel the ache of lost dreams settling in my heart. The simplicity of those days, the joy of creation, has been overshadowed by the mundane noise of everyday life. But in the quiet corners of my mind, my inner child still whispers, still longs for the vibrant colors and boundless possibilities of youth.

Copyright © Beatriz Esmer