“Innocence was the only skin I had until the world taught me I needed armor. Now, I wear the weight of knowing like a coat that never quite fits.”
– Masum Azad
In the landscape of youth, we are often told stories of children clinging to tattered blankets or worn-out toys. But for some, the deepest attachment wasn’t to an object at all. It was an attachment to a state of being to innocence.
In that world, trust wasn’t a risk; it was a default setting. You believed words simply because they were spoken. You looked at people and saw them exactly as they presented themselves, never suspecting the layers of complexity or the hidden motives that they would later reveal. You were attached to the comfort of a world that made sense, a world where everyone was exactly who they claimed to be.
This attachment didn’t shatter in a single, dramatic moment. It didn’t break like a fallen mirror. Instead, it eroded. It faded through a series of quiet disappointments the unanswered questions that lingered in the air, the small betrayals that felt like paper cuts, and the burden of learning hard truths far earlier than you were ready for.
Nothing was physically stolen from you, yet you felt a profound sense of loss. Nothing was ever returned.
What remains is the heavy, permanent weight of knowing. It is a stark contrast to the light, airy softness of not knowing. Somewhere along the way, you realize that innocence is no longer a shelter you can retreat into. It has transitioned from a way of living into a hauntingly beautiful memory a place you once lived, but can never truly visit again.
#masumazad