Knowledge is dour.
We are now weathered by the damning knowledge of years; by the shift from blind confidence to grim, pragmatic understanding. Now, we counter the disappointing and inevitable with doomed longing for all outcomes to defy the proof of experience despite our familiarity.
In the past, in the blissful ignorance of youth, I always thought I was and believed I wanted to be right. Now, more often than not, I hope that I am wrong.
These are the sick, unsettled guts of those who have lived enough pasts to understand the inescapable odds of how the present gives way to the end.