Why is it that, when you’re young, everything is new and still and beautiful? Is it only there because we’re young? Would it still be new, if it were attainable?

Why is it that, when we have it, we abuse it, so that it’s nothing like it was before?

Is it only so precious in our hands, until we don’t wanna play with it anymore?

Why is it that, when you’re young, you want it so badly it hurts – What’s it worth to you? Is it only special now because we don’t know what it holds, and would we look back and say if only the advertisements were true?

Why is it, that when you outgrow everything, you still want it to fit like it did yesterday? Even though you know you can’t make warm what is cold.

Is it only cold to the touch, because you’re jaded? Or because it’s beauty died . . . It was no longer special?

It just wasn’t really gold. . . .