Childhood

My hair twirled around at the ends of my fingers, my eyes glassy and sinless. I see what I want to see; the shining light blinding my vision. My cheeks rosy, my lungs bright pink, the air goes in and out faster and faster until there is no more air left. I had burns from fires I never lit. I scratch my nails, peeling and pulling but comfort stays hidden. But I had my friends. I would run over to my neighbors when things got heavy. We braided our doll's hair and dressed them up as we wished. We ran around barefoot in her jungle, exploring each and every corner, as if nothing was left untouched by us. We would talk about our dreams, our imaginations, more like our aspirations. Lying in the soft olive grass lost in our reveries. How naive we were.
We're so delicately brought into this world by backgrounds unknown. We believe our parents were soulmates and there was no life until us. Were born with forms of purity, we're untainted by this world. Although the worlds before us were tainted, we're unaware. Some of us are born into vicious cycles, soon finding the hopeless rage we were brought to. We grow, begin exploring, seeing what we want to see. We learn if we can trust, which we cannot. Some of us learn early. We learn the safety nets we thought we had are absent and the only figure we have is ourselves. Our bodies grow while our hearts stay the same, the body taking a journey without us. A journey we never asked for.
Childhood is growing along with time. Seeing things, hearing things, facing things. Being allowed to play, to relish, aloud to be foolish and mindless but as time goes we lose these advantages, one at a time. Some things change drastically, while others stay the same, as feelings are kept forever stored in your body. We are delicate as a butterfly, a small tear in our wings can affect our ability to fly, but these tears can stretch our eyes open to the truth of this place. Soon the fun of riding my bike along the shores, the laughter of my friends stretching their faces and sticking out their tounges, and the fear of going to school all swiftly become memories. Wanting to save and cherish each good memory and erase the bad becomes my only want. A want that will never become true.
The strong smell of sorrow fills my lungs years later, bringing back memories. My lungs now inky and dim, and my heart beats slowly and steadily. It torments my core to ponder the bad, but the good visits me at times I need it most. My innocence was lost in the memories that molded my life, and I remember. I remember through the sound of a croaky voice, a certain redolence, a hopeless feeling bringing me back to my youth. I allow it to become the past and save it in my body, as it's running through my veins every single day, reminding me of the foundation it built for me and the life it brought.