A Striven for Reality

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We wandered aimlessly, through endless lines of fertile trees dotted with crimson fruits and fresh green leaves and blossoming, with delicate buds, through fields of untamed field grass and wild flowers, and shallow creeks, bursting with life—where diminutive frogs were intricately leaping from floating pads catching their well deserved meal. This earth belonged to no one, free from the “human touch.” It was left to grow into a tranquil sanctuary unchanged for centuries. Few words were ever passed between us, speech would serve no purpose, only sight, allowing our perplexed brains the ability to comprehend the abstruseness of this natural beauty.

I have never been moved by such a scene, and beauty’s definition has transformed in my mind, no longer a synonym for gorgeous or stunning. Incessantly, each day, I scour the vast landscape of the world, hoping that I can rediscover this hidden heaven. Sadly I have determined that this fanciful wonder can only be conjured when my eyes are tightly closed and my head is resting against my soft pillow.

After F. Scott Fitzgerald





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