time machine

what’s my favourite memory?

The other day, my mother asked me,
“What’s your favorite memory?
A moment you’d go back to —
not to change anything,
just to feel it again.”

I thought of sunsets on the lake,
hot chocolate while it’s snowing,
opening gifts at seven,
with the glow of birthday candles still fresh on my face.

I thought long and hard,
searching for the best time of my life.
But I came up empty.

For a while, I wondered if I had one at all.
Then I thought —
maybe it’s a summer day.
I’m five years old,
the sun warm on my cheeks.
Back then, I was happy.
Carefree and loved,
still talking to my dad.
I didn’t care what people thought of me.
I loved myself.

My favorite memory isn’t a single moment —
it’s climbing fences with my sister,
playing crib with my dad,
walking the dogs late at night,
bike rides that went too far,
and eating popsicles on the trampoline.

I wouldn’t go back to one specific moment.
I’d go back to any of them.
Any time I was happy.
Truly, perfectly content with life.
I wouldn’t chase a day or a place —
I’d chase a feeling.