I like to watch the little children play. I like to watch the two girls who link arms and skip down their road, completely in sync, an unspoken promise. I like to watch the way an adult will stomp on a leaf and a child will pick it up and stare for 10 minutes, like it is the most beautiful and wonderful thing they will ever see. I like to watch the way their faces turn up in surprise when they hear the word no. Because they don’t know rejection, they don’t know sadness. But that is the beauty of watching little children play, they don’t know. And it saddens me that very soon. They will.
It saddens me that those two girls who once linked arms, will soon compare themselves to one another. Until their eyes are glazed over with a sheet of self loathing, that can never be washed out, not even with love, not even with confidence. I hate the way that the leaves that were once so beautiful and so gorgeous, will just be another sign of decay. Another unappreciated example of the beauty of nature. I hate the way that when that innocent child grows up, they will get used to the word no. They will get used to rejection and sadness. Because now, they know.
I would hate to see another one become like me. I hate to see that one by one every child has their innocence hammered out of them, until they can no longer see beauty. They can no longer appreciate it. I hate that they will go home and stare at that wall, until their minds are convinced that their bedroom is the only thing to explore in this world. I hate that they will grow up and embrace sadness and drink it up till they pass out. But I get that, because that happened to me. And it happens to them all. Because now, they know.
I hate that alphabet’s and their pretty little illustrations will be forgotten. I hate that nursery rhyme tunes will turn dark and daunting. I hate that they will look in the mirror and despise the incredible reflection that stares back at them. I hate that they will sit and ponder suicide, and they will drown in depression. I hate that instead of love all they see is hate. But most of all I hate that when I stare into that little kids wide eyes, they do not know. I hate that they don’t know what is coming. But soon, they will.
I have always tried to be that big sister, that tries to warn my sibling about how to avoid it. I try to assure myself that they will be fine, that maybe it won’t happen to them. I give them my best advice, I drill it into their brain. Just so that one day, When they look in the mirror, when they stare at the wall, when they ponder suicide, when they are drowning in depression. They remember, and they never forget.
I hope that when they walk in the park, they watch the children play. I hope they watch the two girls linking hands, I hope they watch the way the children pick up the leaves. I hope they watch the surprised faces at the word no. I hope they watch it. And I hope they give the same advice i gave them. I hope those children in the park get their warning. I hope that they, do not have to wait so long to know.
But still my hope is simply a shattered illusion. When I tell my sibling all my advice. When I warn them. They will not hear me, they will not absorb it. And they will forget. They will forget the alphabet and its pretty little illustrations, and they will forget their childhood innocence. They will watch the children play, they will hope those children don’t forget like they did. They will feel that sadness that soon, they will.
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