Is it true?

    Experience life through the eyes of a child, then would we be able to see anything magical about the world?

    I was always told that children always say things differently. Their tales were special. Magical.

    But when I was a child, nothing was special, or magical through my eyes.

    Nothing about my mother leaving my father seemed magical.

    Nothing was special about my mother walking away with her hands gripped around my father's heart, twisting and tearing till he broke.

    Till I broke.

    That was when it all began.

    The pain.

    She walked away without an explanation. She walked away without looking back as my father sat on the couch, his hands buried in his hands. She walked away without regretting the tears she caused to trickle down his arms, and splash against the floor.

    The tears that I shed.

    Maybe it's true.

    Children are too young and innocent to understand what's going on. To understand the real issue of the situation, the depth of the problem.

    Maybe I didn't fully understand.

    But I did understand that life isn't full of magic, or innocence.

    And I still understand.

    But why?

    Why did this happen to me?


    What went wrong? What did I do to deserve this twist in my story?
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