I remember seeing the world from young eyes. It was a time which like myself, was fresh and new.
The first tastes of consciousness are marked by faint traces of the senses, memories faded like the stories printed on newspapers, sun bleached and powdery. Will I ever feel that sense of wonder and bask in naiveté again, or are all experiences mere lithographs of corresponding expectations?
I feel dull and with deadened reception. No high is as intense as the first, and with increasing doses I seek more and more sensation - something, anything to make me feel excitement again.
There is excitement in uncertainty, in the unknown. It is exhilarating to take a risk and bet it all on the gamble that the next step is a level up. Everything is wonderful and it will never be enough.
There is a fleeting pleasure in the distraction of indulgence. Too often I succumb to engorging my psyche with the illusion of luxury. The richness of solipsism leads to the suffocation of the soul. Instant gratification leads to a heart in debt - I yearn for a greater purpose. This life is a simulation and I am lacking stimulation of the soul.