I think of myself;

the little girl I once was.

I think of her in my darkest and brightest hours,

what she has become,

what she had endured.

And what she could never have come to expect,

— with all that wide-eyed wonder of hers!

Not quite diminished, that flame.

Just disillusioned.


I do love her,

that little girl,

though she never quite got what she deserved in life.

But then again, few does.


She was lost to the world

the minute she was born into it.

Instead she wandered the shores of wonders,

fantastical worlds and ideas of the world,

quite lost to the harsh reality of man.


And she stayed there;

on a distant shore,

in a distant world

of dreams and adventures.

I left her there.


I visit her memory from time to time,


‘what became of that girl,

so lost to the world?’


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