I see images of myself. I see images of my-ought-to-be-self. Somehow it is hard to see those faces smiling. Sometimes it saddens me to see sublime hopes wander around in those eyes. There are my arms hugging my hopes tightly. There are my hands tugging my elevated contemplations hardly.
Those are shadows from the past. I know now what had occurred in the coming past, and can't help thinking to myself: "I have to shake myself off of these bubbly scales."

Perhaps the time has come for me to stop; for that state I was looking for is no more to be found.