When We Believed.

When we were small, the stars would sing, and every stone could hide a king. The wind was wild with secret spells, and trees were portals, deep as wells. We whispered to the silver moon, and chased the dusk with wooden spoons. Our hearts held fireflies in jars— our dreams stitched tight to falling stars. But time, that thief with quiet tread, untangled all the threads we’d thread. We traded cloaks for iron clocks, and spells for keys and mounting locks. Now, magic hides behind the noise, in echoes of forgotten toys. It lingers still, but faint and shy, a flicker in an adult’s eye. Yet sometimes—soft—a scent, a song, will pull us to where we belong. And for a breath, the world will shift— and we will feel that ancient lift. The child within will blink, amazed, as grown-up hands reach through the haze. And we remember—clear, intense— The magic wasn't lost… just bent. ~Frozenova.