If there is anything to be jealous of, it would be that innocence.

What is innocence when an adult looks at a child, or even a youth? Would you see simply ignorance? It’s quite unlikely to be apathy, but what if innocence is actually ignorance? Perhaps I confuse them.

Sometimes I wish I were innocent (or more innocent).

Sometimes I wish I could be ignorant of some things (perhaps unpleasant things).

Sometimes I wish I could just believe, and accept, without all my questioning, all my cynicism, all my realism.

But it is so hard to differentiate between foolishly believing, and sticking to your convictions.