Childhood Nostalgia

When I think of childhood, I think of warmth. I think of that feeling of safety, of security, of being able to turn around to a big, smiling face to pick you up off the ground when you fall down. I remember little things, that seemed so insignificant at the time but for some reason its those things that linger longest in your memory. I remember  looking up into the trees; they all seemed so tall back then, the sunlight beaming through the gaps in the branches and dancing on my skin. I remember looking out my bedroom window, across the rolls of lush green hills and the twists and rushing sounds of the streams which mum would warn me not to climb across, and would laugh when I can come dripping wet. I remember the scent of grass and mint leaves and grandma’s homemade soap.



But all that? It was a long time ago. The memory I have of the valleys and loughs is just an outline, a sketch, replaced with train stations and huge sky high office blocks. The smells have long since faded, and that feeling of security?



Yeah. Haven’t felt that in a while.



Which is why when, once again, I wake up in the middle of the night with tears rolling from my eyes, I don’t go to mum. Instead, I lay back down and curl up under the covers, and tell myself that its going to be okay.