'It will never come back.'

'I know', she said, slowly, looking above; the canopy had stretched its arms, waiting, perhaps, to catch her ashen dreams.

'And when we grow up . . . '

'We'll not. We don't grow up.'

The night sky was an angry pink; our hopes had flitted into the sky, pink and swollen. We would never grow up.

My voice was drilled, I sighed, 'We'll find something, we always do.'

I am not sure what this world can give.