I am not so young as I used to be. Too many trips to the real world. But I haven't thought of aging in such a long time. Its not as sad as I'd previously imagined, but this droning on of childish laughter is getting a little annoying. Tell me of things you might now.
Tell me about the land of the living.
Tell me what its like to grow up. I'm just dying to know.
Or will it make me frightened? If so, then I cannot know. My strength is my daring. My strength is my courage. My courage is from oblivion. Its all I have to protect this body. Such a young body. But oh so daring.
What's it like to drive your cars from one place to another? To talk about the market and industry of a world so grey and held under the iron thumb of production? What's it like to lose the feel of flight inside the steel crafts that hover blind in the sky? How do you dream when you're smothered with brick and blanket, unable to feel the cold gleam of stars? What's it like in the grown up world, in the land of the living?
You haven't convinced me, you know, to join you in that world. An awfully big adventure it could be, but I know I'd miss this person, this young one, this child who is still me. And although I could miss out on love and marriage and such, I have spoken to the stars, and their conversation has educated me much. They have seen more than you ever will, and I can absorb their light. Whilst you are tyed to your dying earth, I am learning from the sky.
And don't you wish, you grown one, that you weren't forever barred, and that you could come fly to a neverland with me?