Monday, December 21, 2015

Like a Child in Love

Remember the wide-eyed wonder and simple exclamations? The wows and the pleeeeeaaases and the mouth opened wide and round? Remember when you--a teenager or college student or single mother or creaky grandfather--were a child shopping with your mother, begging her to buy a soda or look at the train a little bit longer?

How long has it been since you gaped in awe at a butterfly fluttering near you or laughed like the bubbly schoolkid you were at some extremely dumb and cliche joke? It's been a long time for me. 

It's strange, really. I see these things, and I love them. I think butterflies are beautiful, and I love puns, even when they get cheesy. But I don't feel them the same way I used to. I want to be struck dumb when I see the wonders instead of taking a picture and exclaiming over the perfection. 

I want to watch, and remember, and tell about it in a hushed, reverent voice that still can't believe the beauty. I want to live this world like a child in love, a child that holds in cupped hands something it is afraid of shattering. I want to be awkwardly awe-ful, and blessedly full of cheeky smiles at such simple, common pleasures as ice cream and leaves blowing down in a shower. 

I want to be like a child wandering through her life, finding beauty in earthworms and the great expanse of sky and city and empty space that surrounds us.

(And this is my odd resolution for now. To be a child, more of a child than I already am.) 

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