Bare feet and dry leaves

Do you remember the first time you rode a bike? I bet it was when you were really small, when you didn’t understand much of the laws of physics or road rules or even gas prices. The world was much simpler when you were young, wasn’t it? None of the complications like earning money or responsibility or the price of oil or the war in Syria mattered to you back then. None of the distractions tinted your vision of the amazing things that mattered to you most. Like a colorful ball or a skipping rope or friends who you played gini with. You learn to ride the bicycle, huffing and puffing, falling over several times over and over again, because you still couldn’t understand how two wheels couldn’t stand still in place but rode just fine when you peddled faster.  Sometimes you’d give up and just sit on where you fell and cry. Sometimes you’d get right back up and try it again with or without an adult by your side. It would take several weeks of calm precision, lip biting, tears, bruises and more than a few band aids for you to get it right but, nothing you feel will be equal to, or more rewarding than when you finally get it right and you don’t need your training wheels anymore. 

That moment is when fear and pride are no longer your enemies. Belief in yourself and that yearning for the moment of happiness when you have finally achieved what you have practiced so hard for, fills your entire body and kicks you off right off your feet with the wind rushing in your ears and ruffling up your hair. That moment is what I’m talking about. Do you remember that? That, right there is your inner child. The one that loves to walk barefoot on the road without caring what other people think. The one that makes paper boats and sails it off when it’s pouring out side knowing very well that you’d probably get a cold. The one that swims in the sea of fallen dry leaves before the adults come to tidy it up with their idal. The one that made countless kurumbati machines and didn't care what other people thought about it as long as it bough you happiness. The one that doesn't worry about their past mistakes or worry about the endless possibilities of if's and when's of the future. The one that trips over a curb, falls over the bicycle, then laughs at their own self and gets right back on the bike and peddles on. 

That child is what I miss being. That child is what I want in me. That child is what I see on rare occasions such as these.