Sometimes I wish I was back in preschool. Where the sun illuminated the room, soft and loving, a parent to their child. Where its rays were the noisiest thing in the room. Where napping children took up any corner, crevice, or place on the floor. Some curled up like croissants, others spread like stars -- all of them, within their own minds dreaming. 

If I was back in preschool, I would sleep soundly every time we needed to nap. Not like when I was younger. When my mind would race like cars on a track, my eyes open wide like sunflowers in the sun. When I would only observe the other kids napping, because it was too boring to sleep. But it was also boring to be awake. When it would seem like time had slammed on its brakes. The clock slowing in ticks. I wanted to enjoy the playground, not nap. Then I would latch my eyes closed every time a staff padded by. Because pretending to sleep was the closest I ever got to dreaming. 

I now dream of preschool. With its lulls and nostalgia. With the blue birds singing songs. With the hum of the sunlight. Like an old Disney movie. Where everything was soft and blurry and boring. Now, I would give anything for time to stop.