𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗬 𝗟𝗔𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗥𝗬 ᵖʳᵒˢᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ

just before the moon arrives

we used to talk to the moon when we were little;
standing near the tree trank that grandpa painted with colors for us to marvel at.
we would run in between the pomegranate trees -some grafted with almond-
and we would create happiness out of thin air; conjure it with such ease.
the bright pink snapdragon flowers near the failed attempts at growing watermelons
is where we used to build teepees out of dried reeds - never big enough for us all to fit in.
and lately, I've been reminiscing about those times, because they were the only times where we didn't have to overexert our spirits in order to feel happiness, it was just always there surrounding us.
perhaps, it was the magic of childhood that slowly faded away into nothingness;
transformed into a guiding aura whispering words of caution into our ears until all we were left with was the fear of what could be and the zeal to slave away for a sliver of ephemeral joy.