I’ve forgotten how it feels
To sit up late at night on a porch swing
And put lighting bugs, into a glass jar
With the feeling I’d never be lost.

I’ve forgotten how it feels
To run barefoot, through wet grass
At that time of night when the sun is just setting
So everything is blue, right down to the white blonde hair on my head
And the bugs were always biting at my legs, but now
It’s just a memory.

I’ve forgotten how it feels
To dance through a sprinkler in my front yard
On those hot summer days
And my mother sits with a popsicle in her mouth and a hand over her eyes
Laughing like she had no other care in the world
But the green grass, which she would soon spray from my feet
With a hose, colder than a winter day.
I’ve forgotten how it feels
To sip lemonade with my little brother and eat licorice
But he was to young to know then
Or even care for that matter
How much I loved him
Though I still love him now, and always will.

I’ve forgotten how it feels
To vacation to the beach, and play board games late at night
(or at least I thought it was late)
and I’d watch my parents kiss, while my brother and I squirmed
in our seats, and screamed out “GROSS!”
as the waves crashed in the distance.

But here’s what I remember:
The way it felt when the movers came, with big boxes and a truck
To take my stuff to a state where no one had ever heard of me
And I refused to leave the house, because it was the only place I had ever
Loved.

I remember starting at a new school
And no one would talk to me
(but the weird kids, and I didn’t belong with them.)
And here there were no fireflies
No beach houses
Or sprinklers in our yard that doubled as water parks

There were no glasses of lemonade with a toddler
Or beach houses, with carefree parents.
Maybe everything changed when I moved
Maybe my world changed completely
Or maybe, (and this is far more likely, though I hate to admit it.)
Maybe I changed.