Although in many ways the average adult rarely feels the assured feeling that is supposed to come with a certain number of years in existence, there are some things we have definitely lost:
Her beautiful innocent face contorted with grief, singularly distraught by this seemingly minute event. The brightly coloured jewel in her hand becomes a receding dot in the wide sky. How beautiful youth is that the soul is bereft by such tiny things. And what a burden the cynicism of adulthood is, where the innumerous heartaches are not wept over because they have become mundane.