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They say children know nothing of love. They are wrong. Children know the most about love, children do. They know an overwhelming love, the affection that swallows a person whole. They know the love that is unconditional, the love that comes in brilliant, sweeping waves. The kind that adults only hope to emulate, what with their carefully calculated words, and their planned, later-meted-out actions. Children do not think. They do.
Children do not think. But when they are forced to choose between doing and thinking, what comes easily is the fear that staggers through the veins the very same way the soles of the feet stumble up stairs and away into locked rooms. Children fear more easily than they do love.
But children know love. Children know love much better than anyone else could. This is why it is all the more terrible when love is ripped away from them. This is why it is all the more horrifying when love ceases to exist in the spectrum of emotions a child feels first, defaulting to the innate sadness that brews in its place, and the fear that only grows stronger than any other, because of the memories that carry it on.
Would there be a way for memories to be taken away, there would be many more love-knowing adults in the world than there are today. But why take away the bad thoughts, when the bad people remain?
The bad people who steal the love away. Save yourselves. We want to save those who have already lost everything, but who will save those who are yet to experience the way the bad world works? The world remains ugly, but the children are still beautiful, until they become adults.
I am a child no longer. I knew love. To this day I do not know which is more devastating: knowing it, or losing it.
Maybe, both.