I lost that girl somewhere. She was careless and carefree and reckless and, no, wait, reckfree is not a word; but if it was, she would have been all of that too. In retrospect yes of course I admired her, loved her even, if only she'd known that. The turn of her neck, whisking her hair past me, across her eyes, so that I saw her face only in flickers as she smiled, on her way through to somewhere else. Fleeting, fun and gone.
Stolid and set now, I have taken Scarlett O'Hara's "I'll think about it tomorrow" and hardened into a life of procrastination.