Is there a fullness to life, which, at its zenith reveals a cause for living?
If those moments of truth are not realized, does a soul wither and look onward—or shall it then choose not to understand desperation? Will it even notice?
It seems, sometimes, that failure to see the “truth” is success to some, and desperation, the inheritance of those who do.
Someday, if I live long enough, perhaps I will know.
Shouldn't...but Do 