Birthdays always leave a bitter taste of nostalgia.
I am sixteen years of age since the clock struck twelve. 140 253,004 hours of laughing, crying, hoping, worrying, singing, creating; 140 253,004  hours of living.
And even though millions of seconds have passed I still feel like that seven year old girl.
I am still sitting on my bed watching the sun rise and the birds fly across the infinite widths of sky
while thoughts are floating through my mind. I am still that little girl riding downhill breathing in the evening summer air, that little girl sitting under my blanket singing away all bad dreams, that little girl wanting to feel the african sun touching her skin at least once in her life, that little girl soaking in every piece of writing that she could find, that little girl believing in happy endings.
Or am I just desperately clinging onto being that carefree girl while I am denying a world full of worries, tears and hate?
Everytime I realise I grew older in numbers I start questioning if I could ever experience life like that little girl again. The answer is touching my lips longing to be spoken out. I try to push it away, into the very last corners of my mind, hoping that the answer does not exist as long as the words don't leave my lips.
It's an undeniable truth. With every time the clock strucks a second I seem to lose a little more of that glowing beauty of childhood. That undefeatable longing to get to know the world, the childlike curiosity and the infinite carefreeness of youth.
I need to remind myself of not letting my past disappear and leave big holes of emptiness in my heart.
For just a second that feels like a neverending ride through my memories I lose myself in my past.
Just a second where a joyful moment causes more pain than a bullet ever could because these moments can never be reached again. Another second of recurring thoughts that leave scars in my soul because they will always be a part of me.
I wonder how some people manage to keep shining out the glowing beauty of youth throughout their whole lives. All I know is that every person has his own individual way of keeping youth like a precious gift.
There are millions of souls who haven't discovered their own personal way of keeping
their childhood without losing themselves in bittersweet melanchony.
I started writing this being one in a million lost souls hoping that it may guide me my own way.
I already took a step foward without knowing.
I will be alright as long as I keep that little girl in my heart and never let anyone steal the key to my soul.
The key of hope, love and imagination.