My Melancholic Life III

I do remember a time when I experienced joy quite regularly, it was a more innocent affair back then; honestly, the last time I can quite adamantly say I had it good was probably between the ages of 8 and 10. Ofcourse nothing is perfect and therefore it was a bittersweet existence; my parents were going through a nasty divorce, as they do, and they were quite uncouth about it all and used me and my siblings as pawns, as they do... However enough of that everyday dribble most children go through, it's the happiness I'm trying to focus on.

When you are younger things seem either much worse or much better than they actually are, and this mere childish perception of events is what distorts the truth into some kind if dream when you try to look back at it as an adult. Now I remember the simple joys of playing in the street with my toys while my mother sobbed inside cursing her fate, I remember the great adventures me and my siblings used to enjoy with my dad as he kept giving us propaganda against our mother, I remember the simplicity of it all... They would say it's alright and it was...

The thing I loved most about my childhood was now when I look back at it I realise it wasn't so great, but back then it was fine. It's the simple brash audacity of a child to ignore life altogether and exist solely in a world they agree with... Oh how I yearn for those days to return, not for the sorrows but for the ignorant bliss...