It was me who had the lively, childish laughter over things so innocent and simple.

Who lived in her backyard, wide with adventure, more than in her house.

The one who can recall the savoring taste of the blueberries; sweet and warm from the hot summer sun.

And the one whose cold reality was overlapped by her never-ending imagination.

I was the one to slip “tiny me” into the scent of the wooden cabinets to play hide and go seek.

And it was me to climb the tall, oak tree everyday just to be on top of the world.

I was the one to think any willing dream you had for yourself was possible and remembers when she thought her parents knew absolutely everything.

And it is me who is buried so deep under troubled times and broken hearts that she has almost slipped over the hard edge of reality.

Memories is where she's hiding.

Memories is where she waits.

And with her love for nature, her need for adventure, and her longing for more, that is truly me.