Like those magnificently lonesome trophies - once hard fought for with all our might and capacity and then left to rot on the rocks; abysmally, in perpetuity - all laurels and triumphs get jaded and weary dominions faded and supremacy sickly.
Every hard earned victory once immaculate and pristine succumbs to frivolous, lame apathy.
The slick sheen gathers blemish in barren whispers of ungracious hearts silently, firmly, surely for once at the apogee desire - the very impulse to aspire - furtively departs. It is present during the ascent but when the apex is won the zest is swiftly defunct subverting the very fuel to be peppy - leaving us all bled, spent, petty.
There is simply no mystery or intrigue anymore as passion fizzles out and gives up the ghost.
The lustre peels and withers forsaken, listless, tattered.
No wonder then that it is baffling to be thankful for something so ostensibly chipper ...yet dreary, hackneyed, ephemeral under those glowing amber covers.
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Pursuit, on the contrary is thrilling - buoyant, snappy, ****. Powered by desire all consuming and fiery it spurs us on but then fretting comes easy with every little mis-step or importunate want.
We grieve in sleep as well dreaming and planning about what we lack instead of wakefully celebrating our sublime bounty and prized treasure stack.
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Despairingly lost in notional worlds we then innocently rue: Why life is not distributed normally? Why the negative skew? Why is gratitude more arduous than it is to accuse? Or why winning seems spurious and losing so disproportionately true?
Know then that desire is the architect - creating and perpetuating us and our countless worlds - A crackerjack industry of solutions, hopes and warranties with inevitably concealed and crafty toxic downstream corollaries that make success seem pale and phlegmatic somewhat misty, a little tepid while failure looms conspicuously snarling viciously in fervid agony.