I’ve always lived in the past. For every step forward, I take two back. Uninterested in the future and too demanding in the present, all I can do is run to the past every change I get. To the childhood, the summers spent at the grandparents’ house with all my cousins, staying up all night and laughing till our stomachs hurt (and sometimes, crying under the blanket because of momentary troubles), walking the fields and playing in the river (cause none of us knew how to swim). I was a happy child, with so little worries, with such big hopes and so many dreams; I played outside with my friends every single day, I read more fairytales than a kid should be allowed to, wrote letters to favorite teachers and always laughed with tears. And suddenly, childhood was gone. But I never stopped missing it. I often get a spur of the moment and I wanna organize another meet at the grandparents’ place but then I realize, almost all us cousins are married, we have kids, we are grown up.. We will never spend nights together, all of us sleeping on mattresses lined up on the floor, drink cocoa milk with WAY too much sugar in the morning and eat grandma’s most amazing sandwiches. And that hurts immensely, because I was never able to come to terms with the fact that childhood ends. But then. Then I see my daughter. She plays so much, she is so inventive and so extremely funny… and she’s drawing me in. She brings me into her little world and there we both are, exploring innocent places and inventing new worlds. We have so much fun together, so much that she ends up falling on the floor from laughing and I’m bursting into tears. With her and for her, I’m a mom. But I become a child too, and that’s what, I believe, we both need the most.