...and once every so often I'll see a girl in a crowd, similar to myself in age, height and build. All blonde hair and smiles. Sometimes she laughs unashamed at something her friend says and other times she talks, mouth full of food, as a her boyfriend grins at her from across the table. It's never the same girl, never the same place, never the same scenario but I always get the same feeling. And for just one moment I pretend that she is me, at a future point in time. A version of me who has learnt not everything she touches breaks and trusts that not everyone sets out to break her. And I smile, I smile in the hope that one day I'll get there.

A little Wordsworth

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind;

- William Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality