Hello again! I've returned.

I'm back! So. When I first started my blog, I admit it was pretty ambitious for me to try to post something every single day. This time around, I'm going to try to post something at least every week, hopefully with a little more meat to it than my earlier posts.

So to get back on track, this is something I wrote just now. I'm not really sure what it is, but it's about my own childhood and how I feel and think about past friends I've missed a lot.

I believed that they would return, all of them. I had this idea in my mind that no matter where we were, how much we had aged and all the changes we had gone through, we would all be reunited. Eventually, I would see them all again, at least once more, to relive the happiest days of my life.

Although, I admit, it's not saying much to claim that the happiest days of my life occurred before puberty, but I think it's better that way. There was no drama, no hormones raging all over the Richter Scale; it was just simple. Life was simple and it was fun. The only things I had to think about was school and what I was going to do with my friends after school.

I think it's safe to say that they were all my friends, despite the two-year difference. “The Boys,” as my mom would say, were all in the same grade as my sister, which is how I knew them in the first place. For me, it was like having the older brothers that I always wanted‒all 7 of them. They all would come over to my house and play video games, eat snacks, watch TV. It was like summer vacation every day after school, around three o'clock, five days a week.

I cherished the days when they'd take me to the basketball court to teach me how to shoot and do tricks with the ball. I could skateboard by the time I was eight because I wanted to do everything they did. We would ride our bikes around the neighborhood, going from one of our houses' to the next, just goofing around and doing nothing important. I basked in their presence as if surrounded by Greek gods. They meant the world to me.

Then one day, they stopped coming by. None of them showed up one afternoon, to my surprise, and I was alone that day. I played my Nintendo games quietly, having the entire bowl of popcorn to myself, instead of sharing it with a group of boys. I waited until the sun went down, hoping they'd eventually bike their way to my front door. The street lights flickered on, the sun went to bed, and I was still alone in front of my TV.

They never came back and I haven't seen any of them since I was ten years old. I suppose I should've realized that they were growing up and they didn't want to spend their afternoon's with a little girl, playing video games. After all, there was a world of malls and preteen girls out there waiting for them. But I was only ten, I didn't understand why they no longer wanted to be my friend. I hadn't done anything wrong or made them upset. I just wasn't who they wanted to hang out with anymore, and that killed me inside.

I've always thought about them, years after my childhood has passed. I wonder what school's they went to, where they work, if they're still friends with each other or not. I want to get in touch with them, somehow, to see if they'd still remember me and the days we spent playing together, wasting away each afternoon. I will always hope that they remember me, because those seven boys gave me the best childhood I could've asked for. So like most people‒especially those with a Peter Pan complex‒I wish that my childhood lasted just a little bit longer.