Brutality of time and lost words

Words are really not immortal, are they? With these thoughts, a child wakes up from a slumber. A slumber that took him to the end of a crevice, a crevice lost in time, a crevice dissipated in an agony. The agony was never understood by that child, probably, it was never to be understood. There are these experiences that one can never understand because they are beyond that. One may lavish adjectives after adjectives, use words, be clever with them, yet, the illusion of it all melts away!

Time with it's innate quality of being shatteringly brutal withstands any onslaught.
The child goes back to his land, a land where it's only him and his make-believe world which envelopes him with a bliss, a bliss meant only for him, that which an adult can only be wishful for!