A child runs through the tall grass,

arms out like wings,

chasing nothing,

but sure it matters.

The sky is bigger for them.

The clouds have names we’ve forgotten.

Every stone is treasure.

Every puddle, an ocean waiting to be claimed.

They laugh before they understand why.

They trust without reason.

They fall and cry,

then run again—

not bitter, not afraid.

The world hasn’t taught them doubt.

Hasn’t whispered what can’t be done.

They still believe

that magic hides in the cracks of the sidewalk,

that wishes listen,

that love is endless and obvious.

Their eyes hold no shadows.

Only stars.

And when they look at you—

really look—

you remember

what it felt like

to be whole

before the world asked you to break.