Lament, lament, for with the passing of time comes those matters which we were not prepared; we had not planned; we did not desire; and yet here they stand. Bubble and boil as we might, time breeds only complacency and regret; neither can feed a starving belly, yet still we feast upon the remains.
What lies beyond the shadowed ridge, there, in the distance? Does sunlight fall there? Does darkness lose its potency? Or is it more of the same? Do I cast my dreams, my hopes, my fears, out across the eons expecting some answer, some truth; only to find that what I desired all along was simply the dream itself?
The providence of the young is to build and create something out of nothing. It is their dreams which create something beautiful…but not always. Not for all. After all, the beauty of a dream is that it changes, that it becomes real. But for the rest of us, the dream remains the same; it haunts us day and night; it mocks us with what could have been but is not. And the weakness of our own minds leads us to embrace that reality with no clear means of escape.
Thus it is that the greatest boon of this world is to not dream at all. If only. If only…