The beauty of youth rests too in calloused hands, in shaky voices. Who are you to decide, in whose hearts youth takes control? You who have seen the beauties of youth in a toothless smile, a wrinkle in time.

Who truly was the fool, who said the green was made of folly? Far reckless was he, the old who cursed generations. Though our hearts know yet no wisdom, perhaps the journey constituted of life – not the polar opposite? How many has he doomed to a fate unproven, a life lived late?

And who is to question the warmth of our hearts? The child who was taught to love till he dropped dead – the man who always believed that he had everything to give, and was – is – prepared to give his all. Is folly truly the pureness of heart? A lack of worldly defenses a curse? Folly perhaps, the world which has always consumed those they called “naive”, for they knew – from the inside out – that they could never be.

And life is easier. Life is easier with less heart. With a heart, you are bared to all, in sickness and in health. With a heart you attract pain – you consume pain – from those who have too much to hold, and this world has always caused pain to one too many. What else do you do? You absorb and never question why, and you trust that your heart would know no depths. Many have tried, many have failed.

Most do not try again.

But perhaps, with calloused hands, shaky voice and toothless smile intact, we’ll one day look back. To all our follies in the eternity of our youth – a wrinkle in time.

And folly, perhaps folly, was just the key to bring us near.