Every day, all day, I dream. These are of a wide spectrum of themes that qualify from mundane all the way to exceptional in their nature. Always have I been so disposed, a youthful naivete which allowed me to travel the world over within the confines of my mind, such a fertile ground where romance and adventure flourished. But as I aged, I have shed some of this attribute, ever so slightly after each trial I found myself confronted with. A mixture of hope and cynicism currently seems to be my defining character, the germans will have a word for it I am sure. Now hardly able to commit to feelings I hold, I wince as I entrust the scantest portion of my heart, this reluctance causing the very parting I seek to avoid pain from without fail. Also, the lack of faith I entertain towards the probability of my earthly pursuits makes reaching the location of various panoramas I wish to behold seemingly unfeasible, so I procrastinate instead. Is awareness of it all sufficient to restore the full potential of hope, let it unbalance favorably the scale so that I witness the world again from the roving perspective that I so love?
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