I miss my rose-coloured glasses

I miss my 
rose-coloured glasses;
the innocence and 
naiveté they made real

There was magic
In the world I saw with them.
Happy endings 
not nightmares ensued

Awards were never
bought and sold
I never saw a price tag
on a soul.

I ache to go back
my rose-coloured world
but I lost my glasses
too long ago.

In a moving box, 
under divorce papers 
or behind a parenting book
perhaps

I may have misplaced them
telling bedtime stories
in rooms too poor
for fairytales.

I suppose we all grow
and let go
of shiny things
that used to mean so much.

But I miss my 
rose-coloured glasses
and believing in dreams
that come true.