"but please do put everything away when you are done playing", i told her, as she busied herself with transforming the entire living room floor into a ship, using wooden bricks, vases, books, glass beads and every other imaginable object she would find around.
"but i want to keep my ship here as it is, even as i am away at my grandparents'".
"no, this won't do - we will stumble upon these things, besides guests might come and then what".
"no problem, we will invite them onto the ship, no?"
"well..." - i wanted to say something but then i realized i didn't exactly find any tenable argument as to why we couldn't do that. she looked at me, then to her ship again, sprawling over the floor as we were speaking:
"it is so boring to live as you do. your grown-up world is so boring. you only have rooms, and no ships hidden in them any longer".
i couldn't make out the expression on her face when she said this, something between sadness and bewilderment.
(perhaps it is true that, as we grow old, we only live in the shadows of what once was a luminous world filled with being)