When I Was Seven

When I was seven I wished to God I turn into a butterfly: I wanted the freedom to fly, to go wherever I go, without commitments and undercuts of the daily grind. Life seemed too small for me, and all I wanted was to fly.

When I was seven school was boring: it was all about pointing out my weakness in Math, how my socks didn’t match my shoes, how my classmates’ noises raced the hell out of me, and that day when my classmate pulled my hair in exchange of the candy she gave me.

When I was seven life was a drag: I was asked to wear nice clothes for Sunday church, I felt I had to ask my parents for new shoes and bags every new school year, I had to have 128 crayons for art class and 10 different pencils in my bag.

When I was seven it hit on me: life seemed too difficult to keep.

When I was seven I thought about the future: I wanted it to become my present.

When I was seven: I wanted to look back and get to write about myself at age seven.

When I was seven how I wish I thanked more that I was seven: I found out too late that life is not going to adjust for my mistakes, people come and go, and time divides the past, present and future in milliseconds.

I was only seven for that one time that I was seven.

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