We were children in a time when you were still allowed to be a child. ......

[MysteRy]

We are the generation that won’t come back.
We grew up with dusty shoes, scraped knees, and hearts that raced —
not for a screen,
but to finish our snack and run outside,
where the only thing that mattered was a ball and a few good friends.

🚶‍♂️ We walked home from school,
talking out loud or dreaming in silence,
already thinking about the next game, the next little adventure —
between a hole in the dirt and a whispered secret behind a wall.

A stick became a sword.
A puddle turned into an ocean.
Our treasures? Marbles, stickers, folded paper boats.
And the sky — that was our only limit.

📸 We didn’t have cloud backups.
Only memories stored in our minds — and on film.
Photos you could hold, smell, and tuck into drawers,
next to handwritten letters,
postcards from grandparents,
and crayon drawings our parents kept like treasures.

We called “Mom” the one who cured our fevers.
“Dad” the one who ran beside us as we learned to ride a bike.
And honestly, that was enough.

🌙 At night, under the blankets,
we whispered to our sibling in the bed next to us,
laughing about nothing,
hoping no adult would hear and switch off that tiny shared world.

Now, this generation is quietly fading —
like an old photograph losing color,
but no one dares to throw it away.

We’re walking away slowly, carrying an invisible suitcase:
the echo of street laughter,
the smell of fresh bread,
the aimless running,
and that wild, beautiful freedom that had no notifications.

We were children in a time when you were still allowed to be a child.
And maybe — just maybe — that was our greatest fortune.