I don't remember the last time I wore pigtails.
The last time I begged to watch blues clues.
But I remember the joy I had in my heart when I had those pigtails.
The joy when I was outside, eating things I probably shouldn't have.
The things I'd find and proudly show my father.
I'd take random bugs, plants, rodents even from outside.
I was so proud of myself.
I know that's how I felt when I'd go play outside, with pigtails in my hair.
My father did those pigtails, atleast he tried.
I wore my pigtails when I watched blues clues, or whatever silly show I'd decide to sit watch.
I haven't worn my pigtails in a long time.
Now I'm concerned about my hair being pin straight, clean, and I'm not worried about going outside.
I sit on my phone for hours, not bothering to sit and watch blues clues again.
Not worried about the next bug I can find to show my dad.
I miss my pigtails.
I miss my childhood.
But those pigtails gave me memories.
Memories of my neighborhood.
Memories of me.
