When you're young, you grow and change very quickly and time seems to pass slowly, ligubriously. Life is long and luxurious; there is no world without you. Summers spent lieing in the field, making up characters in the rolling sky, clouds morph into dogs, horses, boats, gods and men's faces. You alone lieing on your back in the field next to the forest. Newly cut grass. The odd house not far away, not really yours, imagining the door locked to keep you out.
But as an adult you change very little, but the world spins past you faster and faster and faster.
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