The art of living is, incidentally, the art of losing innocence.
Must we learn to live?
Maybe mystery is the only key to living with innocence-
to alarm the world with the possibility of being as grown up as you are not-
to keep a happy face to hide what you seek-
for the sad are the vulnerable, and innocence is thwarted with knives.
In the hopeful heart of naivety,
what was love?
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