Allow me to share with you my world and how I see it.
In my world, trees are dancing. I cannot see the wind as you do, but I hear it singing. Dogs and cats are not the only ones running around, but even the bugs and flies walk with their many feet on the ground, on the leaves, and on my skin. I still do not want to go inside, but they say it is dark already.
I look up at our shelter made of wood, and all I can say is “it is ugly.” Shabby corners are all around, and when it rains, the thunder might break it all. Dust covers the ground, and cockroaches that scare me the most hide beneath them. Forgotten memorabilia from I-don't-know-where-it-came-from are placed in a cabinet that doesn't open.
The way big people see me and treat me seem to annoy me. They say they are smarter, and they know what is good and bad. But they still make the same mistakes all over again; it doesn't end! They still confuse me.
This world where I live may seem to interest you, but I'm sorry you cannot go here anymore. This world where I live will forever be inside my head, as a memory, as a story not to be told. If you insist, I can still tell you more about the world where I live. But, stranger, everyone of us lived as children once in our lives, and it's up to you if it shall be a story not to be told or worth telling to the world where you now live.
Thank you for reading until the last word! I wasn't sure how it would flow, as how I always write, but I hope you enjoyed. I was enticed to write something like this because I have a nephew who lives in our house, and children never fail to make me think or imagine what's inside their innocent mind.