I Wish

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I wish I had done things at 15,
All that I wish I was nostalgic about.
Those sunday afternoons,
I wish I could have gone out in the sweltering heat,
I wish I would have braved the heavy downpour,
I wish I could have splashed in the puddles,
I wish I could have gotten my hands filthy, my clothes muddy.
I wish I could have just sat and looked out of the window,
While the sun set orange, in the yonder horizon.
While the homing birds flew back home against the backdrop of the clear sky.
I wish I could have just sat by the fireplace while my grandma knit,
I could have sat by her wicker chair and listened to her narrate stories of days long gone by,
I wish I could have had that guy who would look across the tedious history class, straight into my eyes, just my eyes.
Who would have caused butterflies in my stomach and my cheeks to flush into varying hues of red,
Those stolen glances never happened, those secret notes never came.
Looking back, nostalgia does hit me.
But not in the way I would like it to.
Childhood should bring around fond memories,
Not memories of torn pages or ink stained fingers.
Nostalgia should remind me of a fear of being caught red handed for a mischief, not a fear of scoring less. Maybe in the quest for succeeding in the rat race, I was so willingly pushed into,
But never wished to indulge in;
Childhood was left behind some where in the way.

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