Children of Sorrow
i had parents who drank and gambled and fought. and slowly those nights turned around so that things could never be the way that they were before.
a child in limbo. between the days of small childness and nights of knowing childness. a layer of atmosphere just big enough for a seven year old girl.
i imagine now how it would have felt if i were born on a different day, in a different year, a different house on a different street. the shift.
i could have walked through a childhood full of secure dreams, firmly rooting my feet and ankles in a future already bought.
i miss the danger of being young
i try to feel that anticipation again, not knowing whats waiting around the corner. thinking of adventure and exploration.
i try to discard the feelings of dread, of never knowing whats waiting for me when i get home. expecting rage and degradation.
my brain cant balance on this tight-rope, this wanting and knowing and fear.
i miss the danger of being young...
of being naive, green, a little wet behind the ears. of being sweet and untainted just wishing life would begin.
of being perfectly ignorant and loving it, a part of the greatest unknowing.
i miss the danger of being young and loved and safe and not expecting the world to fall apart. not yet, not yet.
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