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When she really wanted to grow up,
she used to think it must be easier
to be grown than to be small.
She used to think, and she had faith in it,
that if she were a little more skillful,
dreaming would be worth it,
because the girl used to believe
that dreamed dreams
became true
with time.
And all the girl wanted then
was to see all of her dreams
racing through time
so they could become reality.
She became less confused
when a wise teacher
helped her understand
that we grow up faster
the more perfect
our learning is.
In every possible way
the child wanted to learn.
She wanted to know everything,
not just the fact, but the reason
for stars hanging in the sky,
for gravity and centifugal force,
for storms and for flowering.
The more the time passed,
the more she tried to learn.
And she touched everything
and she felt everything
and she read everything.
She used to eat
with the hunger of someone who wants to have
ideas,
and to understand them,
science and philosophy,
arts and eruptions,
names and abbreviations.
But when girl had finally grown up
as all creatures
do
a deep sadness
overtook her completely.
Now that she knew
about colors and transparent colors,
about Gregorian chant and itchy skin
about moons and circumferences,
about the world, about onomatopeia,
she could easily understand
that dream and reality
are parallel lines.

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