a wastrel child: “Soon, it shall be the weekend: A time for frolics! I hope I shall have iced cream!”
you, a sensible child: “Better to let words curl dry in your mouth like blood on a summer’s pavement than to make your foolish desires known. A dream spoken is a dream that can be opposed. The world is peopled with enemies and only through silence can you be sure your hopes have time to grow in shadow, like a capped mushroom.”