Idealism needs to be fueled by passion

Idealism needs to be fueled by passion, and compassion drains one of all energy. I wonder how the optimism of romantics survives the despair that darkens silent moments. Uncertainty runs cold and deep, and no matter how cherished the nostalgia, some scars never heal. Time is a cruel companion. Its bitterness is as intense as the black of one’s own shadow. It crawls with the soul always like a faithful sorrow, faithful as a friend, whose words are bitter yet true.

It was always hard to accept reality but now the refuge of denial has lost its charm. I wish I kept my haven intact, I wish I only worshipped my refuge as a sacred idol, an idol always to be sanctified but never embraced.

Valued dreams are like silence. They break once worded. And dreams, once broken, shatter. New dreams are a possibility for some but who can mend broken hearts, when the wounds run deeper than the hope of life and even the instinct of survival.