I
want to believe that anything is possible.
Sometime,
while I was maturing, I learned too much.
I
learned of nuclear weapons, prejudice, starving and
abused kids,
lies, unhappy marriages, illness, pain and mortality.
I
want to be six again.
I
want to think that everyone, including myself,
will live forever,
because I don't know the concept of death.
I
want to be oblivious to the complexity of life and
be overly
excited by the little things again.
I
want television to be something I watch for fun,
not something
used for escape from the things I should be doing.
I
want to live knowing the little things that I find exciting
will
always make me as happy as when I first learned them.
I
want to be six again.
I
remember not seeing the world as a whole, but rather
being aware
of only the things that directly concerned me.
I
want to be naive enough to think that if I'm happy, so is everyone
else.
I
want to walk down the beach and think only of the sand beneath my
feet
and the possibility of finding that blue piece of sea glass
I'm looking for.
I
want to spend my afternoons climbing trees and riding my bike,
letting
the grownups worry about time, the dentist and how to find
the money to fix the car.
I
want to wonder what I'll do when I grow up and what I'll be,
who
I'll be and not worry about what I'll do if this doesn't work out.
I
want that time back.
I
want to use it now as an escape, so that when my computer crashes,
or I have a mountain of paperwork, or two depressed friends, or a
fight
with my spouse, or bittersweet memories of times gone by, or
second thoughts
about so many things, I can travel back and build
a snowman, without thinking
about anything except whether the snow
sticks together
and what I can possibly use for the snowman's
mouth.
I
want to be six again.
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