Everything is slow this morning, making me wait. Even the keys of the keyboard can’t keep up with my fingers. I want them to go faster, tick tock, like the clock. Honey on my fingertips from little bear’s porridge makes them stick, all covered in dust.

Sleep in the corner of my eyes forms wax tears as I struggle to light the lamp inside. I should be drawing, or writing, I know this, but time slips away like magic beans through my fingertips. Tomorrow she says. Late, Late, for a very important date.

The Circus Master told me when we answer this question we must leave Neverland. Curiousity killed the Cheshire Cat. What do you want to be when you grow up? Don’t answer it, don’t grow up. Throw that pocket-watch in the lake.