Of hiding Metal Keys

With due respect to adult hood. You Suck!

I want to capture the young me, the child me and store it in a big ornate box with extremely delicate and absolutely intricate carvings on the lid. I want to hide it in my wooden cupboard, lock it and hide the key. The small metal key which is easy to camouflage.

Then when I am sick of this horrible feeling of growing old, of years passing me by, of my innocence dying, of not being able to scream and cry when I want, of not being able to run bare feet, of money making, of horrid judgemental looks, of adult leeches using others like stepping stones, of people not being happy enough because of silly reasons....
... I will just reach for my hidden key and open the wooden cupboard. I will take my ornate box with delicate and intricate carvings on the lid and then I will simply dive into its velvet insides.
Purple and velvet.
Soft and comfortable.

I will imagine the insides of the box to be the insides of a genie bottle. The child in me will be the genie of the bottle and will fulfill my wishes. Three at a time...

I will ask for white snowflakes on the tip of my nose.
I will ask for a sparkling river beneath my feet.
I will ask for the last ray of the sun, right before it sets, in my hair.

*poof*