As the disillusionment of youth and the fuzzy warmth of the protective family wears away I begin to wonder what is left of the understanding I had of my earlier days. I find myself hurt most by the realization that my expectations of this world, of humanity, are far too lofty. But how, then, do I begin anew, disregarding all these notions that linger in the locked cupboards and drawers of my mind and heart? Can I save myself from the heartbreak I endure as the film playing in my head depicting the wonders of our human potential runs parallel to the cold, demarcating reality I perceive?
One can hope that with time the imbalance of expectation and reality will slowly level, like a falling leaf that floats undecidedly to the left and to the right, arresting the progress of its motion only as it touches the ground. It is my duty to seek the ground, permeating the hot air of my conjectures and touch that which is.
I concede that the search for what is and what ought to be are easily mistaken and are often entangled, perhaps two sides of the same coin, but what can one expect from the abstraction and extraction of a mere human mind?
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