In truth, nothing was the same. She forgot about the stars… and taking notice of the sea. She was no longer filled with all the curiosities of the world and didn’t take much notice of anything… other than how heavy… and awkward the bottle had become.
Children books are awesome. Children book writers have peculiar minds. Respectable, respectful, simplified, complicated. It takes something special to be able to regurgitate a jaded, cynical thought, which one is bound to have from years of experience, into something beautiful and childlike for children to read and giggle at, and for adults to read into and ponder. The layers of meaning give adults to think about, to briefly feel the passage of time, and to try to embody the innocence of a child. Well, that, of course, only occurs to people who take the time to read children books. That's a whole different discussion.
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