The Innocence of Childhood

The best thing about being a child, is the color that simply pours from the world. The bright colors that ooze from the cracks in the sidewalk and drip from the sky. Imagination, thick within a child’s mind, shines like golden sunlight through a dark canopy forest. The more you grow up, the duller colors get. Gone away with garnet red, strawberry pink, and amethyst purple, replaced with foggy grey and ink black. Before life was drenched gingerbread brown, seafoam green, and artic blue, but as you get older, your eyes dull, your mind slows, and life becomes a numb cycle of work, bills, and responsibilities. Fingers stained with mulberries, lips red with taffy. A life filled with sweets, coating the tongue with sugar, so luscious and light, it leaves a coating as it goes down your throat. The white lace of a doll’s dress, the hazel wood of a toy truck. Life is seen through rose-colored glasses, tinted with happiness and innocence. Bright yellow daffodils shiver in the meadow. The memories of childhood, rusting away, as you age.