Remember When I Was a Babe?

Here is a poem by William Blake:

I have no name,

I am but two days old

What shall I call thee?

I happy am,

Joy is my name.

Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!

Sweet joy about two days old.

Sweet joy I call thee;

Thou dost smile.

I sing the while-

Sweet joy befall thee.

Since I was about 14 years old, I've really had an obsession with childhood, particular the innocence of childhood. When I think back to listening to the Titanic soundtrack in the back of my dad's black Mercedes convertible and daydreaming about some boy I'd seen on TV, I truly start to cry, because every thing has become so much harder. I look at pictures of myself, or see kids when I'm running errands, and I want to pick them up, hold them, and ask them to never grow up. The older you get the less immune you become to witnessing other peoples' pain, like you were slowly regaining sight after a period of being blind, and what you see is not what you had expected at all. I think I'm at an interesting age because I'm being pulled in two directions: retreating towards the past, and flying forward to the future at light speed. Every thing is uncertain at this point, and I know that over the past couple years I've earned some scars, scars that mean the innocence of childhood are fading away. Some of it has been stolen by people and things in my life without permission, boys who break your heart and make you jaded, or watching your parents cry and suffer from the hardships of a long life, or the death of a loved one. I never gave permission for life to make me grow up so fast, I never said anyone could take my innocence away from me. Yet, I realize that, although my innocence is mine, it is completely on the surface of me, and I can't control what comes of it as it weathers and chips and cracks. It makes me sad. A lot of the time. Because I am a control freak, and I wish I had a say in how fast time is going by. I only wish.

xoxo