There is an amount of pain that comes with understanding; the loss of wonder, the loss of mystery, the loss of something more. Answers are finite. Answers are the death of a question, the ultimate fulfillment bringing about a quick and complete end. Youth is full of questions, maturity an age of answers. No longer does one dream what it is like on the Moon, for humanity knows; the answer has been found.
Freshman year was full of Unicorns, whether they came in the form of a energetic, excited professor of English, challenging students to dream or the cute girl seen sporadically on the elevator. English becomes a chore, concluding paragraphs have become a habit. The girl is met, had, she could not be all the flicker of eye contact insinuated she might be. Abstract notions become concrete, categorized, filled away and forgotten.
We cannot be Forever Young, so many adventures gone away, so many songs we forgot to play. Music can only be heard by the sad man, the man who has lost true youth, while played by the mad man, who refuses to believe what has become evident. Dreams have become obscure, shifts in reality, setting new parameters to the world, often morphing even inside one dream, the brain fighting against the finality, the answerability, of the world around it.
