There was a hill in my back yard

There was a hill in my back yard (not a real hill, just a small hill, an incline), and with lack of height and too much imagination, It seemed big enough to roll down, which I did frequently. The sunflowers that peeked for me from the neighbors yard, turned.

To be young, living purely for the outdoors, there, belly up, arms out, a sense of home, of comfort, and ignorant good nature. That could not be recreated, or replaced, so that the passing years, and aging have proven evident. Childhood was as ideal as adulthood is a burden.

With my first boyfriend, arm in arm, we passed this place, this unpreserved territory, existing now for only the fortune of many more futures, and my first romantic moment. A sad moment, for the particular hill. Same rose bush, neat and decrepit, sitting for the same purpose of the same sun, was different, consisting of everything that had mattered to me. Exactly the same, but different.

I can remember what it felt like to live days away in that certain place for years. What it felt like just to be alive there, and now to realize the way your mind changes. To see with every moment you take for your own, subconscious, as you mold to a creature of personal satisfaction. To desperately aspire to change from that simple state of loving the way the sunflowers turned before your eyes, to complicate yourself.

That moment in time, there were two perceptions of my living, one a very vivid memory, the other just developing, as to me I am still a child, and this yard was monumental.