The child in me is far, far within, nowadays. I once felt him so close, beaming just beneath the surface, as if I could turn around and all these years had merely been a dream; but these days, I feel so grown. I feel as if I have lost touch with the innocence — not in a bad way, just that I am not so surprised by things anymore. No, this is not a lamentation. For it is now that I can finally put away childish things, and no longer think as I did when I was a child. In fact, it has been too long in coming, if anything. It is not that my sense of wonder is gone, but that it has grown with me: though it needs to sense more to activate, when it does, it perceives that much the greater than one of a child’s. Do not be sad when the child grows, do not long for things that can no longer be yours. It is one of those things that are so very hard to learn, but so very worth it when we do: when we can move on, get on with life, get on with living, grow up. It is not dying, not at all like I had thought it would be, back when looked through a child’s eyes to what might be.