Pretend you are the golden child. Reach out your hand for the goblet; taste the love and pleasure that the chosen ones drink; lean back in your chair of velvet; dance to the harp of all the songs they wrote for you; and rest your head on the soft pillow of adulation to dream of the child you were, the one staring in the window at the banquet.
In your dream you will be cold; and though you pull your blanket around you, you will never find warmth. Hunger will be a crow in your belly with your heart in its beak.
The dream will last a lifetime. When you awake, pretend you are still the golden child you saw inside the window.