I miss childhood the way the mouth misses the fallen milk tooth. Bleeding grief followed by the blurred assurance of resurgence, which never quite feels the same. I miss childhood the way the part-calf misses its mother’s milk. Calfhood is coming to an end and the grass must be chewed now. I miss childhood the way the grass misses dew, the way the dew misses a curious finger, and a finger misses the nail, chewed away on occasion, and the nail misses the dirt, picked out in the name of beauty.

The dirt resembles the Bournvita milk I would chug every morning before school. I miss childhood as my hair is pulled apart. Morning combing sessions. I had to look nice for you. Ma did not know that her early morning efforts were catered purely for you. Each strand. A separation from the scalp. A distanced death. I dreamt of you, you know. I dreamt of your house. For some reason, your room has a giant poster of you against the wall. You dream of only you. I miss childhood as I run away. Running from one end to another — we are on the field. We play ice and water. I wait for you to water me. Remember the time we stole chips from the grocery shop? We ran. Our jagged breaths. The synchronisation of our steps. The familiar footpaths. Our hands almost interlocked for a split second. Ma sent us back to return it. I want to return my dream to you. 

I have dreamt of writing to you. I have spoken just for you to perhaps, maybe, if possible, listen. I have dreamt of your home just to visualise where you may be at rest. Your sofa, your breath, your ease. Your bicycle leaning against the lamp post. Your address. I grieve knowing each other. I miss childhood the way grief misses material, something tangible, something to hold between her fingers instead of living a childhood of imaginary friends. My first friend, before you, was the air and so is that for grief. 

Pink Floyd plays as I miss childhood. Yes, Ma was pregnant with me when she heard them live. It was her first concert — free tickets! Nevertheless, it was supposedly too loud which is why she left early. Still, I have technically been to a Pink Floyd concert. I told you this! Do you remember the bookmark-making business that I started with my friends at school? You wanted a Pink Floyd bookmark even though you barely read any books. I miss childhood the way my body remembers the pink and the blood and how your favorite band was my first. 

Your lips are pink from eating cotton candy at the Christmas Carnival. You are my childhood and your sticky hands touch everything. You eat it because it is easy on the mouth. Your jaw is weak. You are slightly in pain. Your smile is a maze and I want to be a part of every turn. Toothless. Less. Lesser. Least. Gone. There you are. Wash your hands please. Remember, you performed at the fashion show that night? You! And fashion! I cannot believe it. I miss childhood. Lying down on random sofas. Strange ceilings. Loud doctors. Random adults applying eye drops and ear drops. I itch my eyes too much. I pick my ear when I should not. I forget to use soap. Once, I was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. An infection on my nose. It was so red. You poked it so many times. It hurt. My nose still has a bump. You taught me how to iron my clothes. You burnt your finger. I laughed. The following day, my finger got stuck between the hinge of the door. You laughed. Our fingers were now blue. So blue. Blue children. I miss childhood the way the blue misses my hand, and my hand misses the door, and I miss leaving. I missed the opportunity to stay. And you missed the opportunity to ask me to stay. I am now in a foreign land. You actually have become fashionable. I miss childhood. We invented so many games. Pen-fight. Two fat pens — sorry, writing devices, to be specific — placed strategically on the table. Who can knock the other one out first? The positioning of our fingers. The brand of the writing device. The different types of shots: butterfly, attack, normal. The pace. The force. The tension. We invented childhood. I realise that before you may not have been the most fashionable, but you were always beautiful. I miss childhood the way beauty misses youth and youth misses beauty and the blues miss everything. Blue hands, blue childhood, toothless smiles, and your hands. Please wash your hands.