What I knew

I want to write about what I knew, not what I know, but what I knew before reality became real. Before self expectation, before duty and obligation, before things became grey and fuzzy, and before my future didn't matter.
These are the memories in which I find comfort. These are the thoughts and events where I wish my heart still beat, where I wish my brain could still reflect.
These are the memories that transform with each day, and with each new experience. The time I broke my toe under a vending machine no longer hurts as much I thought it did at the time. And the names I was called by my brother no longer sting like they did. The scientist I wanted to become in second grade, has now faded under next semester's text books, covering non-fiction writing and PR case studies. The memories of playing legos and barbies after school with my brother, are now overlapped with discussions of politics and games of Gin rummy.
I want to remember what it was like to care only of what happened at that moment. I want to know what I knew then. How to relish the daylight and think nothing of the darkness. To play and to never question the imaginative world I lived in.