Hopscotch

I used to wish I were a little kid again if only to have someone to tuck me in or hold my hand or come running when I cry but then again, we, the big people, can avert their eyes and cover their ears and kiss their bruises but we cant make the monsters go away and in the end when the floor drops out from under your feet and buildings collapse over your head and death rains down in the form of shrapnel it doesn’t really matter whose arms you are in or whose hand you are holding, does it?