The laughter of trick-or-treaters on the evening breeze enters through the open door. I miss being a kid. I miss being young. I miss having friends. Youth is fleeting and wasted on the young. It’s only when we find ourselves older and more alone that we realise what we had. You really never know what you had until it’s gone.
Running up and down the streets with your friends; you’re all dressed in silly or spooky outfits. You’re waving your Glo-sticks and torches around. You’re screaming and laughing and only caring about being with your friends. How much fun you’re having. How much candy you’re getting. Which will be the next house you visit. Why that one house never gives anything out. Always eager to get to the one that gives the best.
These are the things I miss. It’s lonely getting old. One day you realise you can count your friends on one hand…if any. When you’re young, sometimes it has to be both hands…and sometimes a foot or two. I miss my youth. I didn’t have many friends, bit I certainly had more than I do now. But then even one is more than zero. I’ve never been to a Halloween party, and only a few times went trick-or-treating with friends. It was usually with my parents and sister, but it didn’t last long. We grew up. We got too old. We moved to a house on a main street.
I miss my youth. I miss my friends. I miss the fun.