"Failure to find common ground has led me to believe that my pursuit is purely idealistic. I focus on the exterior world to diffuse the craving inside. But despite the effort to keep away from the suffocating instropection that's had a notoriously merciless history of eating me alive, the same question emerges: How long before the next uncomfortable sense of deja vu? I have found a pattern to interpersonal relations; but I will resist from seeming nauseatingly pessimistic by listing a hopeless romantic's manifesto. Are sour personal experiences to blame? I don't like to think that the only person I held in a pedestal embittered the course of the future. Is there a notable difference between pessimism and realism?"
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