Hey Love,
Here’s another gentle reminder for you—because I see you. I see the sparkle that once danced in your eyes slowly dimming under the weight of responsibility, pain, stress and expectation. You don’t laugh the same way anymore. You don’t play the way you used to. You don’t get excited about the little things like you once did. And I miss it. I miss you. I know you’ve been trying so hard to show up, to survive, to choose yourself—and I’m proud of you for that. But somewhere in the process, you’ve forgotten how to live.
You’ve started to lose touch with the part of you that enjoys life just for the sake of it. Don’t forget to enjoy. Don’t forget to breathe, to laugh, to be silly. Not because you’re doing anything wrong, but because that side of you deserves space too. Allow yourself to let go. Spread your wings like you used to. Run without reason. Dance like you’ve never been watched. Play like no one’s keeping score.
Don’t let that child inside you fade away, Love.
You’ve forgotten how to run just for the wind in your hair. How to laugh without holding back. How to play without a purpose. You’re growing, yes—but don’t grow away from the child inside you. Grow with them. Nurture them. Let them lead you back to joy.
That impatient spark in you, the one that gets giddy with excitement, the one that jumps in too soon, talks too fast, tries too hard—it’s beautiful. It’s what makes you, you. That fire in your eyes when you’re chasing a goal, that competitiveness, that hunger to create and explore—it suits you. The way your voice lifts with passion when you talk about something you love—that’s all you. That’s what makes you shine. So what’s dimming your light now? What’s holding you back? Don’t dim it for the world. Don’t polish yourself down to fit into spaces that were never meant to hold your wildness.
When was the last time you played your favourite game just for the joy of it? When did you last let yourself lose track of time because you were too busy having fun? When was the last time you danced in your room like no one was watching? When was the last time you forgot about time? When was the last time you played for the love of it, not the result? Or played air hockey, not to win, but just to feel alive in the moment? Remember how your eyes lit up when you played air hockey—not for the win, but for the rhythm, the laughter, the challenge, the shared energy. You never cared about the score—you cared about the spirit of the game. That glow on your face, the one you get when you’re totally present—that’s pure magic.
I remember how you glow when you’re caught in the rhythm of the game. I see the way you lose, sometimes deliberately, just to let the other person feel the thrill of victory. Not out of weakness, but because you understand—truly understand—that the joy of playing together is more important than winning alone. laughing even when you fall—that’s the kind of heart the world rarely sees and deeply needs. That’s what I love about you. That’s what makes you.
You’re an artist, not just in what you create but in how you live. You, with your muddy hands shaping vessels from wet clay with patience and love. You, whispering kind words to your plants, cheering them on as they grow under your care. You, with your heart so soft it speaks to the leaves, to the sky, to anything that will listen. You were never meant to be hardened by life. You were meant to feel it all—the joy, the hurt, the awe. You were meant to play, to dance, to fall down and get back up laughing. You were meant to be wild and curious and wonder-filled.
That isn’t just a hobby, it’s a reflection of your soul. A soul that’s gentle and grounded, curious and creative. Don’t abandon it in the name of “growing up.” Maturity isn’t about silencing your inner child—it’s about learning how to protect them. You may not even realize it, but in those moments, you’re present. You’re being yourself fully. You’re not trying to perform or prove anything. You’re just living.
These small things—they’re not small. They’re reminders of who you are at your core.
Think of Lord Krishna—the divine being who played the flute, stole butter, danced with joy, and yet held the weight of dharma on his shoulders. Even as he guided Arjuna on the battlefield, he never lost the playful, mischievous child who once danced in Vrindavan. Krishna reminds us that joy and responsibility can exist side by side. That the divine can be both wise and wild, serious and silly. That growing into your purpose doesn’t mean letting go of your playfulness—it means bringing that joy with you as you rise.
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I know you’re growing. I know you’re trying to stay grounded and handle things like an adult. But don’t let that mean you stop having fun. Give yourself permission to play. To get it wrong. To not know. To be new, again and again. The world will always try to make you harder, but your softness is not a flaw. It’s your superpower. Don’t let the inner child in you die. Love. They’re still here. Still waiting. Still hoping. Still believing. Laugh without overthinking it. Let yourself enjoy life again. Let yourself be silly, competitive, curious, and excited. Let the inner child in you breathe.
They still matter.
So, go back to the things you love. Go, dance barefoot in your living room. Build pillow forts. Watch cartoons. Scribble in journals with glitter pens. Jump in puddles. Make silly faces. Tell bad jokes. Chase butterflies. Laugh until your stomach hurts. Paint on walls. Sing in the shower. Run wildly into things you love. Paint even if it’s messy. Dance even if you don’t know the steps. Sing even if it’s off-key. Laugh, love, stumble, run, and let yourself be free. Let that inner child run barefoot again—because they are still in there, waiting for you to remember.
Don’t let that child die, Love. You need them. And the world? The world needs them too. And oh, what a joy it would be to meet them again.
With all my love,
Your Sunshine