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The sullied distractions of life serve only one purpose.

That of aiding the souls of Mankind to forget those pure dreams that were born, nurtured and blessed by youth.

But by our passing into that most trival of states, namely that of adulthood, our focus is steadily pulled beyond the untainted infantile fantasy worlds that had bourne us like our mothers arms, to a world inhabited by only the slavery of the passing years.

Rank upon rank of endless distractions thrown at us with every hour, every heartbeat of adulthood, from the moment we open our eyes to the moment that sleep takes us.

Unlucky are those who have no shelter from life in their dreams, the residue of their burdens clinging to them while they sleep, for sleep is our only shelter and in sleep our only hope of remembering the child we once were.

The child is protected from such assaults, if only by the virtue of their innocent dreams.

Yet as years pass with ever increasing momentum, innocence grows ever more faint until the day you realize that you don’t miss innocence because you can no longer remember ever having it.

What sadness is this, that to be an adult is to have lost touch with such things?

Hollow we are left to face an essentially fractured world.

Turning our minds and sense of importance in favor of the dissonant drudgery of making ends meet until that day when our usefulness is over and we are left to linger in our final years and accept that those trampled dreams of childhood, whose fulfiullment at once seemed at our fingertips, are forever lost to us as bold mortality breathes heavily on our naked necks.

Innocence is a china cup on an elephants back. It is only a matter of time until the cup falls and is trampled underfoot.

Time is an enemy, as much as the pressure to grow up and adopt, at first mentally, the accountability of adulthood, ready for when we must adopt it physically too.

The challenge then while life remains, is to hold your dreams as dear to you as your breath, for breath is life and while that remains, all is possible.

“Your real duty is to save your dream.”

Amedeo Modigliani (1884-1920)

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