Often I am blind.
I refuse sight today and instead fill oblivion with the wonders of tomorrow.
My eyes gaze upon  the canvas of the present but deflect any image of it.  
It has been marred by the brush stroke of unpleasant realities.
Much like scars on flesh it is flawed, it is damaged, it is crooked.
My eyes find shelter from these imperfections in the promise of tomorrow.
Tomorrow can not be governed by the natural laws of the present.
Tomorrow is defined not by reality, but only by the eyes transfixed upon it.
It is pure, it is indefectable, it is perfect.
That is why it can not exist.
Often I am blind.