continued..
(I can never explain well that which affects me most. I think I inherited that trait from my dearest father).
As a child, the best moments in my life were always so terribly short that just as my joy would begin to surface and transform me, a terrible melancholy- terrible, I say, enough to where even at a very young age I would long for an end to life and it's disappointments- would come over me. (I write this all with a clear conscience- I really do not believe I am exaggerating or lying).
As I grew, I had more opportunities to escape those instances- though some were unavoidable or worth the faithful, dreaded feeling- and it decreased in it's magnitude as I decreased in childish hope (by that I mean in general- you know the hope of a child that life will be magical and un-interrupted by tragedy). In fact, I thought the feeling had completely dissipated... But I see that the truth is otherwise. It comes back- it will always come back, so long as I live in a broken world.
~
As I grew, I had more opportunities to escape those instances- though some were unavoidable or worth the faithful, dreaded feeling- and it decreased in it's magnitude as I decreased in childish hope (by that I mean in general- you know the hope of a child that life will be magical and un-interrupted by tragedy). In fact, I thought the feeling had completely dissipated... But I see that the truth is otherwise. It comes back- it will always come back, so long as I live in a broken world.
~
(I can never explain well that which affects me most. I think I inherited that trait from my dearest father).
