isn’t it beautiful? being a child? unacquainted with the monsters that dwell under your bed, the monsters inside your head. closing your eyes and watching your thoughts travel somewhere new, their wanderlust still afresh. when the world is still a shiny place, it’s packaging still technicolour bright, not yet faded to the dull pastel hues of hearts broken and hopes mangled.
when your parents turn the lights off, seemingly oblivious to the little lumps under the blanket. they smile. you’ve always been against discrimination, even when it’s just your stuffed toys; even when it’s the elephant that freaks you out, because its eyes are too big and its stare too pointed. when magic is still real. when your parent’s relationship is perfect. when you dote on your father like he’s flawless, he’s an angel. but one day, don’t angels burn? they fall, they crumble in front of your eyes. his light will be too much. he’ll blind you and you’ll have no choice but to turn away.
being a child is when when you’re positive that on the morning of your eleventh birthday there will be a Hogwarts letter slid neatly through the slit of your door. when your action figures are still heroes. when you don’t want to watch them step out of the phone booth and save the day; you want to fly with them. when a week of holidays feels like years. when you can get away with anything if you clasp your hands and flash those baby teeth of yours a certain way. when your head is stuck in the clouds, but you don’t care; the view is beautiful from up there. when you jump over the cracks in the pavement like they’re ravines.
so here’s to when things really were that simple.
when life will yet not only make it a point to only give you handfuls of cynicism and defeat, but rub it in your wounds and dredge it in your eyes; but burrowing in somebody’s hug would make it all okay . maybe it will in the future. but you will be too caught up in your doldrums, doubt will burn away your faith in people like acid, until there will be nothing left but a pathetic emptiness. when you think people stay forever. but forever is too big, too infinite for comprehension through your seven year old eyes.
so instead, you don’t question the expiry date on your forever.
when you look up at the orb up in the sky, and wonder if it’s a spotlight so the world really would be a stage. but you haven’t read Shakespeare yet, and so you dream. you dream and you dream. when the moon is made of cheese for you. when your teeth fall out faster than hamayoun died. when you sleep with one eye open in hopes of catching the tooth fairy flitting about.
it’s the time when you have the most faith in the world, in life. it’s before this life will knock the wind out of your lungs. hit you. hard. it’s when you still believe in kindness, when the crayoned sun lives at the corner of the page. it’s when band aids can still fix all of your scrapes, your wounds. you don’t know what a broken heart is yet, and you think you’re different. You think you’ll save the world.
but maybe you still can.
So, uh, this is my first shot at prose and i am a nervous ball of energy right now. I had no idea how this post would come together at first, but I think it has. Constructive criticism? How was it? If you read it all, here’s some love for you *virtual hug* ❤