I don't remember the last time I went home for Easter. I miss Easter. I find myself wishing I were back home. Beautifully coloured eggs, chocolate bunnies, and of course, the most important part, the Easter egg hunt. It was always a competition between my older sister and I. And after our own little family hunt, we would go to my grandparents, and my crazy uncle Bob would be our pretend Easter bunny, and he would hide countless golf balls on the property, and me, my sister and my cousins would have another hunt before the grand Turkey Dinner. Such amazing times I took for granted.
I really miss being a kid, and what I miss most about it is the mystery. The feeling that anything could happen, that anything is possible. The excitement of going to sleep one night to find that something magical had happened, right in your own backyard. That a mythical creature that should not logically exist, DOES exist, and the proof is in the chocolate. I miss those days when I truly believed that I was something really special. In fact, I believed I was a superhero. I believed there was some untapped resource inside me that would just wake up one day and change the world.
Only that never happened. I'm not a superhero. I haven't saved the world. I haven't even saved myself. I want that feeling back. Hope. I've lived without it for so long. But lately, every now and again, a little something wakes up inside and tries to ignite. But it doesn't take. Not yet.