Childhood

Martha L. Carreon
The Child in Me
Sometimes my life flinches in front of me and it tumbles in my eyes to stay, to play to be a little princess from a Cinderella story. Then I give her a spacebetween my iris and my crystalline lens, I give her my best parchment so she can write her own story. I like when she does this, because I believe in her, in my inner child.
To remember is to liveagain; sometime I play to be a little girl again. I remember the street that used to turn into a battle field, where pirates and ninjas used to search for the treasure, where knights used to fight againstthe giant dragon to rescue the princess, or just where we used to run to hold hands and turn, and turn, and turn around until we will fall and break into unstoppable laughs. I remember the crayonsthat I used to draw my dream house, my favorite place in the world, the map that would guide me to the hidden treasure, the colorful rainbows, the world embroidered in my dreams. I remember the kite thatwould rise so high that I would imagine it could touch the sky. I remember the book that I would anxiously wait in bed for my mother to read to me. The expected good night kisses from my mother thatgave me the security that she already checked in every closet and under the bed for any monsters. I remember the innocence of waking up in the middle of the night because of a thunder and knowingthat the only person that could protect me was my mother.
I believe in that inner child that still lives in me. The inner child that reminds me of the innocence of every morning. The one that tells meto grab the happiness of life and to place it in my lips to then draw a smile in them. The one that reminds me that laughter is free, that I can share it and it still will not run out. The innerchild that answers back a hit with a kiss, contempt with a word of love. The inner child that does not know neither any rancor feelings nor she knows any evil. The inner child that does not know about...