#childishjournal

[childishjournals]

Beach

The crests that glimmer under the sunlight, the crash of waves that reach the shoreline, the endless ombre of green and blue, You will always meet a land either baked or cooled.

So leave your feet behind on the sand, feel the breeze rush through your hands, and look up towards the endless azure.

My dear, always remember what you want to do.

[childishjournals]

A Walk To School

Every time I got off the train and walked to school, I’d pass through a thousand colors. They filled every day of the week, completing the canvas I carried across my chest, But out of all the colors out there, Only a few made up the main impression of my – almost complete – artwork.

Aimlessly treading the pavement, Grief sat on the benches, hidden beneath the shadows, Holding a small shirt, covered in her tears. One morning, weeks after the occurrence, She gave me a bracelet made for the supposed years. It was small, but this I could tell you, it was full of love.

Sadness, on the other hand, did not cry as often as Grief... She was silent. She smiled at me every time I passed by her at the station. She wore crimson bracelets that never seemed to dry, They had a broken innocence to it. It just never came to anyone's understanding why she chose to leave.

Desire, well he was different. He pranced under the spotlight, getting the attention of all. Every time he saw me walking to school, he would start a conversation. He talked so much about himself; it didn't really matter if I responded or not. The words that reached the colors around me said that he was full of self-proclaimed significance, But what I saw was a dull color on a lonely palette.

I remember passing Misery at the side of the street, She sat perfectly still, holding a drugged doll in her arms. Covered in rags and dirt, she kept Hope with her, waiting for circles to be given. At night I saw her wait by the road as she sold all her charms, Stacking the drugs and the drugged, just hoping she was left without a pang.

Hope, who had lengthy conversations at Misery's side, wore false prayers and quotes of "great" leaders. She would preach to me, whenever I passed by the monument at the park. For me, everything Hope babbled about was blood and money; I took them for nothing, But the only thing I did receive was what my parents told me: She didn't understand how to let things go.

My days were filled with these colors, It came to my realization that my canvas had little to no progress. I did my best to make it look better: strengthening the accents, meddling with the contrast, and mixing a few that seemed to complement. Somewhere along the way there was one color that blended with almost all but, as it did so, it left a very distinct mark on my painting.

Happiness strode through the train station like any other person. He didn't look any different than the colors that painted the walls around me, But what made him different was what he covered his canvas with. Happiness was there sitting on the benches at the station, Talking with Grief about wizards and little princes who travel through stars and asteroids. He had given her a cup of coffee to place her hands around. Seemingly, that tear-stained shirt, she held onto so dearly, began to dry despite the dampness in the station. Happiness was there embracing Sadness within his arms, They both smiled and laughed at jokes that never seemed funny. It was that one morning when I saw Sadness' temporary beauty. He had given her a pair of brown bracelets that clung to her skin and had white polka dots on it. The day Sadness left, she wrote a note: “It was Anger who left me, but it was ‘him’ that made me realize that I could find something real again.”

Happiness was there laughing with Desire as they got out of the station, They conversed loudly and were excited every second they shared something new. As usual, Desire kept talking and Happiness just listened with a smile, But as I overheard their conversation on the way to school, It was as if Desire’s words were richer and his sentences more complete.

Happiness was there handing Misery some food from his bag, He would sit by her side, watching the birds fly through the trees. They shared a cup of water and spoke to each other like they were in their own dining room. He had given Misery as much as he could, despite the empty stomach that led his day.

Happiness was there listening to Hope preach about Mischief and Discord. After school, I saw her crying on his shoulders, Dry blood and broken petals are what hid a scar of age, Ever since, Hope became a wilting flower, whose petals fell with grace, Now, she spoke to everyone about Peace and Love.

It was Happiness who tapped my shoulder at the school gates. He handed me a brush of untainted hairs and a gaze of nostalgia. He told me that he didn’t need it anymore. Reluctantly, I accepted the gift and watched him walk away.

Days passed and colors flew, I carry the brush Happiness gave me, everywhere I go. With every stroke I make with it, I feel more complete. The colors, that fill my canvas, are somehow different than before, Everywhere I look, Happiness is there.