the pleasure is mine.

its all cliches and meaningless resolutions. unrealistic dreams spill from the lips of over-optimistic, stereotypical children, still in that bubble wrapped phase of life where nothing is unachievable. i recall similar times, of immersing myself in hundreds of books, day after day, drinking in emotive words and turning language into visions in my mind. oh, i was going to paint scenes of angsty, love starved girls dissapearing into a world where clouds crossed an unfamiliar sky and fantasy became reality. stories of young men trying to break out of routine, their last chance attempts at proving themselves to that unseen authority, that dream of becoming iconic, memorable. oh and those stories do exist, they are simply unwritten. Because, my friends, the story doesn't always follow the storyline that you plan, instead weaving and crossing in every other possible direction, knocking down hope-filled hearts, placing black ink crosses over possible futures, and running through those unnavoidable red lights. oh life, the harsh ruins and dissapointments that come with it, enough to encourage the strongest of minds to retreat into the corner. life, oh the hopes it dashes, the toll it takes. Eager, keen little hearts blazing with ideas and creativity, only to be forced back into nothingness, where they remain still and unblinking as they ponder the wreck that is their planned out, all american dream lives. it's all just a glittery exterior,isn't it? that dress that turns out to look so much better on the hanger.well is it all part of growing up? is having your visions anihilated some sort of crash test before adulthood? That alice-in-wonderland feeling of your entire world being turned upside down, is that detrimental to ones growth? surely one would be wiser to be a cynic from the beginning?