You live in secret places where celebrations are not allowed. In my room I often recite lyrics from happier times. You seem to relish not being, more than I can laugh at being who I am. Taking it all too seriously, too much to heart, is one way to grow old. You have found another, the pursuit of eternal youth. Is it just a phase on the way? I must trust there is something more to come – something more than this transitory dust.