Innocence is like our skin,
Brightest and softest in our infancy.
For innocence is not ignorance or lack of knowledge
But merely the limit of your imagination
But merely the infinite curiosity we’re born with.
As we grow from childhood and through most of our life, we strech our skin.
We have to in the meanwhile limit our imagination. Quench our curiosity with ever lacking knowledge as we start to grapple with reality.
You begin to feel your skin as a projection of yourself, As how you want others to see you.
We kill our innocence for the sake of this world;
But only little by little, day by day,
Choice by choice, with every choice, we kill the need to know more.
We silence the little child as we grow into adulthood in return for a better grasp on reality, we trade our innocence for every time we understand the reality. Sometimes we fail miserably, sometimes we with find security, respect, comfort or money but never love, only borrowed peace.
Somewhere down the life towards old age, we give up on understanding the reality of life and finally we become children again.
Not knowing how the reality works but always wondering, not understanding why we don’t understand things anymore. Trying to make sense with what little we understand.
Our skin hangs loose from the burden of our choices, like all the deflated realities we tried strech and control.
We die just like we were born, not knowing what lies ahead or what went by.
Just saying 