Hands reach up toward the sky, brimming with the joy of new life. Fingers sticky with a sweet caress of honey, hair knotted against the wind, blowing wildly. The world spins and tilts, the comforting blue of the sky falling away as I spin, cascading down as my body follows suit, a heaping jumble of limbs laying in the soft afternoon light. 

The sun winks down at me, as I bask in my childhood. My hands are pudgy, my face still rounded in the comfort of youth. My soft head has not yet hardened to the mundane of life, my bones are still weak, growing and ever-changing against the stagnant, harsh edges of the world.

In this moment, the world is mine for the taking. 

Physically I will grow, my fingers stretching longer, my body being pulled up towards the sky by some invisible force. 

I wait for my body to mature with my mind, hoping that one day I will wake up and be whole. I’m hungry for more than my young mind can give me; I gobble up new slivers of information as if I have been starved for intellect since the day I was born. 

I shine with the glow of youth, I have a bright mind and a bright future. 

When the light in my eyes starts to fade and the days become too long, I creep away from my responsibilities, finding solace in the tranquility of the sun. Gentle, caressing fingers slip down from the sky, pushing my hair back from my face and steadying me. 

One especially difficult day, I slip outside to see my oldest friend. When I peer up, hoping to feel the familiar sense of calm rush over me, the sun staring back does not recognize me. 

I tower over the girl I once was, my childhood unrooting itself. The shield my parents painstakingly covered me in, layering on to protect my innocence, has been stripped, revealing my face to the harsh world around me. 

Somehow, in the years that follow, I grapple with my growth; begging for more time with the girl I once yearned to grow out of. My fingers dig into my blissfulness, fingernails scraping, trying to find traction, begging for more time. 

Ambitions suddenly feel too daunting, the melancholy push and pull of life calms me into a deep, never-ending stream of consciousness. I am stuck within the waves, pulling myself to the surface, choking on the water until I am dragged beneath once again. 

Moments of emotion interrupt my tranquility, dragging me towards the churning surface. Sometimes, when the water is too still and I float gently atop, the sun dips me back in, as if only to remind me of how cold the waves are. 

Day after day I shiver, water lapping over me, tendrils of cold pulling me towards the bottom. The water becomes lukewarm, the light fingers of the sun skimming over the top, heating my skin and the water in turn. The soft kiss of the sun turns aggressive, hands plunging through the sea, throwing my body through the heating water. The waves warm to a boil, causing my skin to melt from my bones. My mind withers and dries up. Eventually, the water does too. 

I drift from the water, falling through the air. 

I find myself on soft, plush grass. I gaze up into the sky, the sun stares back down at me. Instead of just light, of just pure bliss, I see a sad sort of understanding. Somehow, in all my years of hurrying, of begging myself to grow, I have left behind the joy of childhood; forming the brittle body of a person who understands what they are up against. 

The sun and I mourn the loss of a child, not stolen away by death, instead taken by the spiteful hands of time.