old

I'm old, Gandalf. I know I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it in my heart. I feel... thin. Sort of stretched, like... butter scraped over too much bread.

I need a holiday, a very long holiday. And I don't expect I shall return.

In fact I mean not to.

--

Why is it so hard, so hard, so hard for me to find a way back into the old emotions of those good old days?

When I could forget fast and easily, and allow myself to believe. To hope, even. And to dream.

The process of growing up is painful.