When I was younger, I was richer

When I was younger,

I was richer.

Not with money—

but with time I didn’t count,

questions I wasn’t afraid to ask,

and the quiet magic of believing

that people stay.

I was rich in messy mornings,

unfinished thoughts,

a heart that hadn’t learned

to guard its gates.

Laughter came easy,

and love didn’t need proof.

Now, I keep receipts

for everything—

even joy.

And somehow,

the older I got,

the less I carried

that couldn’t be measured.

But some days,

in a breath,

in a breeze,

I feel her—

the girl who lived richer

because she didn’t know

what could be taken.

~I didn’t plan to write this—but my heart remembered what my mind forgot.