Hold on.

Desperately clinging onto every little last thing. Things are changing and she doesn't like it. People are changing, surroudings are changing, everything is changing.

She's tired of being told that everybody changes.

She knows that.

She doesn't need to be told. She's sick and tired of being told that she'll not stay the same, that she'll have to leave the sweet comforting embrace of childhood behind sooner or later, however unwillingly. She doesn't want to know.

Holding on, tighter than she ever has before, refusing to let go of even that little inkling, that little thing that reminds her of familliar, comforting, better times.

Too much change.

She can't handle it.