When I see a young child with a new parent - sometimes, I look on longingly.
Nestles in strollers
Cuddled with mothers
Tickled by fathers
Adored and encouraged by strangers.
I watch, not for any desire to have one of my own but to be the one.
To be nestled, cuddled, encouraged.
But then I remember that we never really grow up, we just get old
And everytime I cry
They are children's tears
It is only the child that knows how to cry thus drawing others toward us.