This morning I was walking through my neighborhood on my way to work and I saw a crayon. A new looking green crayola crayon was lying on the sidewalk in front of the house. It’s the last day of June, and it’s actually warm for once, something sometimes rare in San Francisco. Looking at the crayon, I noticed the air. It smelled of summer. Not just summer, but sun warmed earth and growing plants. I immediately wanted to just be able to lie down in a bunch of grass and plants and rest in the sunshine and roll around. I was transported back to my childhood. Not the horrible days at school, the loneliness of being around other children who never liked me, but the childhood of June 30th way back when. This was when time was always perfect. School had just let out, there were two whole months stretching before me. Two whole months of hotness, where I never had to feel cold. Two whole months of wandering around my yard and the woods, of taking walks and reading books, of cooking and spending time with my family. Two whole months ahead of perfection. That crayon even flashed me back farther…to before I moved to NH, when I was really young, and would spend time doing coloring projects at school, back when I had friends, or at home, making up stories about each of the crayon colors as if they were people. All of this thinking happened in an instant. I barely paused as I passed, so as not to be late to work. But even now, later, I’m left with a feeling of sadness and longing for those days. A feeling of being really old, and loss for something that can’t be repeated. It’s not like good, happy moments don’t happen all the time (just the fact that I can walk on the way to work on a nice day, instead of being imprisoned in a car is a blessing), but I still miss those old perfect times.
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