At what point was I supposed to be jaded?
Did it pass or is it still to come?
Because I remember those elders telling me years ago, teaching me so young
About that thing called idealism, and why it won’t work
And how their skepticism, their worry, might serve me better
In the long run.
But what kind of elders are those
Who’d rob years of wonder to replace or avenge the loss of their own
Who’d swear by some truth, born of narrow chosen views
Elders who we believe, as youth, because we don’t know how not to.
But when again was I supposed to lose that wonder?
Because I was lucky to have mentors who never required me to
Who never put a line, where after so many failures I should just stop trying, where after loss I should close my blinds, where I should expect the worst because it’s easier than crying afterwards.
No, I don’t expect so.
Exasperated? Hell yeah.
But give up hope? Give up effort? Give up on others? On communication, on love?
No, that’s not necessary.
That’s not the natural course of age.
That’s just…giving up.