I used to look at the sky,
and wonder how clouds could fly,
how they changed their shape,
how they carried the colours of day
and slowly faded into night.
I used to love the rain,
the smell of earth, the windowpane,
the sound of drops falling slow,
the little rivers that came and went,
the green that seemed to glow.
I loved the trees,
the dancing leaves,
the grass that moved with every breeze.
I loved the ponds,
the flowers too,
the little things most people never knew.
I found magic everywhere—
in cloudy skies,
in evening air,
in flowers blooming by the road,
in places no one thought to care.
And then, somehow,
I changed.
The sky remained the same,
the rain still came,
the flowers still grew,
the clouds still flew.
But I stopped looking.
Life became heavier than wonder,
and surviving became louder than beauty.
Now clouds are only clouds,
rain is only rain,
and the girl who once found magic in them
feels like a stranger wearing my name.
I don't know when I lost her.
I don't know where she went.
I only know
I miss the girl
who could look at the sky
and feel alive again.