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Little one, I'm here now. I'm here now and I've grown older. I know better now, you see. I've walked through a lot of lows to be able to take your hand and lead you through the highs now. You can dream of Tuscany again. I had to collect a lot of shells of sense and understanding to be able to afford it. It's costly to dream now, I can see it very clearly now with my poor eyes. There's blood on my knees, you say? That's okay. Don't worry. Come, let's dream now. Tuscany meadows, wildflowers, gold cross necklace on your even more gold skin, wasn't it? Your feet are bare and healed, seeping heroism as you've trampled on snakes and scorpions. There's a man somewhere and he's waiting for you. A religious man with money in his pocket, rose gold in his heart and soil beneath his fingernails that he scrubs every night after the sundown so he can touch you with clean hands. We shall have so much fun now. You will see special outskirts of the world, handpicked by God. There will be dresses in your closet, not skeletons. Long and flowy, short and skin-tight. There shall be happy summers, pensive winters, dreamy springs and calm autumns. Books, journals, paintings. Joy in your heart, new memories. God will place His hand upon your forehead and pick the bad memories out of your hair like they are dandelion fuzzies. Dream wildly now. Of course you can. Nothing will hurt you now. You've gone through enough storms. Let the asphalt, the grass, the wildflowers and the tree leaves dry now. I'll place a napkin over your weeping heart, too. It's okay. Live in the moment now. Look at everything a little bit longer than everyone else. Dream, wildly.
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