Younger Days

There's a feeling like that - when everything familiar suddenly becomes small. The house, the street, the trees, even the swing in the old yard - it's all like a toy. You look at them from afar and can't understand how they could fit into this world entirely. The music smells of wood, summer air, and something that is gone irretrievably. There's no drama in it - just a gentle sadness from a person who has grown up and accidentally realized it on the way home. Such songs don't cry; they just quietly nod to the past: "thank you, it was great." And they walk on, barefoot on the new asphalt, a little bewildered, but already confidently.