there was magic in my grandmother’s house, when i was barely a child

memory:
i am four and we’re all being put to bed in the humid heat of grandma’s house. there are five of us and she’s fanning us all to sleep. i’ve got my little slippers on and i remember vaguely crying about not wanting to take them off. 

memory:
we’re building sandcastles by the sea and grandma picks me up because the tides have crept closer. it’s hot in a nice way and i am ten shades of brown. my last summer memory before i move to the land of eternal heat. 

memory:
i am ten and we’re jumping off beds playing X-men the way only kids can; we’re laughing up a storm and before i know it, it’s bed time. we’re struggling and whining but the adults are adamant. the next day, we return only to find an awkward adolescence has crept in, and we’re playing but we’re embarrassed. 

memory:
i am eighteen and alone in a foreign land, wondering where life is leading me, and all i remember is how small my feet used to be, and how large the shoes i’d like to fill are. 

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