Small hands.

Little blonde strands that gently danced.

Strong scents of suncream and pale tans.

A pit of dreams buried in soft sand and melted ice cream.

No shaking hands;

just cheeky glances,

smiles and silly laughs.

And among the innocent chatter about unimportant matters,

a determination and desire to take chances.

To fly, like the angels and fairies did.

To push yourself the highest on the squeaky swings.

A need to see the buildings from a distance you have never before seen

and keep yourself above the astroturf floor.

So while the chuckles turn into roars,

you push yourself more and more.

Past the green trees.

Over the trampoline.

Into a mindset fully free.

Before the fear has a chance to settle in,

you see the rooftops—even the scaffolding—

and if you look close enough, you can see your own house staring back in the distance.

The familiarity feels like clarity,

confirmation you achieved your biggest goal,

and the world is so still for a short while.

Until, inevitably, you once again reach the floor.

Stepping onto the chalked ground once more,

skipping with pride,

knowing you have now seen the most beautiful sight.

A vision bigger than yourself.

Larger than imagination itself.

Ready to play princesses and elves

with your newfound friends who now look at you in astonishment because of your accomplishment.

You don’t say much, but instead nod with acknowledgment—

for you have now caught sight of something more wonderful than the brightest of lights.

And when I was younger, this was the most beautiful thing to me.

But as we grow,

we find there’s more to know,

more than we can see.

And we come to realize

that the most beautiful things cannot be viewed through one’s eyes,

counted, or priced.

The most beautiful things are memories that stay trapped in the mind,

somehow still helping, guiding you through life.

This memory, as bleak as some may see it,

reappears when my days are covered by pouring rain,

keeping me sane.

So this is the most beautiful thing to me.