Plea to my juvenile self

Dear five year old me ,

You climbed the Junglegym once upon a time and fell down scraping your knee. You got up and didn’t stop till you reached the top.

You spent hours on the swing ,
Gazing at the snowy white clouds that looked like horses racing on the clear blue sky.

You cried your heart out when it had hurt , when the pain was unbearable .

You spilled all the milk out of your mouth, bursting into laughter at a silly joke cracked by your friend.

You found solace in stories , pestering everyone who you knew to tell you one .

Why is the sky blue ?Why do we pray ?Why do trees don’t speak? Why am I supposed to this ? How am I supposed to do this ?
Your curious mind kept asking questions to everyone – without hesitation . Making a list of questions , you pinned them on your wall.

You sat beside your grandmother shelling peas , on your father’s lap playing with his hair , telling your mother what you did the whole day.

You jumped in puddles without the fear of spoiling your dress , feeling the raindrops on your skin , anxiously waiting for the rainbow.

You raced with the dog alone even though your friend , who was afraid of dogs , said it would bite you.

You believed in magic, fairies and unicorns even when elders said they didn’t exist.

You drew , sung and danced because you wanted to draw , sing and dance. Was there any other reason required, to do what you loved to do ?

Dear five year old me , I know you’re still there within me and I want you to stay there – always .