I used to play in the attic when I was a young girl. It was my own playground. If I wanted to escape to a fantasy world, I’d sneak up to the attic and weave fantasies around me. As the years went by, I returned more infrequently until I no longer climb up there except for general cleanings. One day, I looked in the mirror and tried to glimpse the little girl I used to be. Suddenly, I felt an impulse to climb the loft ladders I’ve learned to love before. The mere sight of them brought back memories. Feeling the sturdy rungs support my feet brought a security I’ve only known as a kid. I climbed up through a portal to where my memories lay undisturbed. I don’t know if anyone had the same feeling I had when they see the things. Some people just step on them because they needed to do a chore. It felt for me like I being carried aloft, like a mother does to her baby.