Better to have loved and lost or not to have loved at all?
I believe in determination for this answer. This is too easy, I think. I choose the former because I believe in it. It’s so easy to just say that, without any thinking.
Sometimes I am too ashamed to admit that I was convinced I was in love, because who would ever say that full-heartedly? I could say I was blithe in my manner, seemingly enjoying the surprises and made up stories and the sweetest travel days.
At six, I began wishing for a younger baby brother or sister every birthday. Every Christmas eve, blowing out pink waxed candles, clasping hands, smile-for-the-camera-moments, and when asked “What did you wish for?” I deliriously returned with fervor and blissful giddiness that one day it will come true and I will someone new to play with or teach (oh dear the whole bossy sister act). Then I was twelve, it stopped. I know wishing for six years straight isn’t going to make anything come true. I used to think if you get married again you’d get another child – this is one of my best precious secrets and it makes me laugh at my naivety – but it wasn’t till books and knowledge then I realized you don’t make babies like that. So it stopped, I stopped wishing.
At thirteen, I began to wish for happiness and laughter and joy and new phones and forever. I wished for secrets that will make me happy, everything that would surprise me. At fourteen, I didn’t know so I wished for love and good friends and forever. Fifteen I couldn’t remember. Sixteen was last December, and I wished and I wished for happiness and forever. Any suggestions for seventeen?
This is the moment where I gasp and remark, I am so young. And I am :)
What makes youth an age-old innocence?
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