If sandcastles and mud pies could bring a smile to my face, I’d build them and mold them day after day. If sandcastles were the homes of Queens and Kings, I’d dress up and be princess for a day. If mud pies resembled the aroma of gram’s homemade custard pie, I’d stuff my face like Thanksgiving dinner. If sandcastle and mud pies could ring laughter in my ears, I’d laugh until the sun rose. But as it did, the laughter would cease, the smiles would fade, and silent tears would slide down my cheeks because sandcastles and mud pies are merely a small child fantasy where such things are the worst of their worries, but this, my dear is reality where sandcastles and mud pies don’t even exist. Neither does that fake smile or choked laughter you force day after day.