Have you ever waken up one day and doubted your dubious grasp on morality, and the malignancy that threatens to devour what little conscience you have left? I have. In fact, while sitting half-naked on my couch staring at the discarded sock in front of the window this morning, I had my epiphany. It was a minute thought, a two-minute moment of self where Zen buddhist koans waded through my head and images of broken promises and wistful moments of courageous intent rose from the quagmire of memory to sneer at their former master, fallen from grace.

About two years ago, this embodiment of idealism and naiveté dared to fall in love for the first time. His was a foolishly optimistic and impossible romance, a mere two weeks of uplifted hearts and the passion of being young and oblivious. It was when he had not yet crushed his belief in Jesus Christ and when the idea of drinking booze, much less smoking weed was an absurdity easily discarded from his visions of the future.

His first love was a shining example of Christendom, a beautiful young woman who would never let a man soil her purity. Her complements of his being a gentleman and an excellent storyteller lifted his heart up through ionosphere, stratosphere, and beyond! He promised her--and himself--that he would never change, never break the covenant they had formed together when they shared their feelings under a starlit summer sky.

Two years later, this fallen hero looked back at the years that had passed. He had broken every aspect of his promise, and had replaced the prodigy of innocence with the epitome of villainy. Villains get the best lines, after all.

Occasionally though, on mornings such as these, the extinguished light will flicker momentarily, and shadows of love and integrity will dance about in the empty heart of innocence lost. To consumate his realization, the benevolent martyr records his thoughts on his new-found passion, an amazing bastion of thought hiding in the world of packets and ISPs. This incredible creation gave him the power to write a memo to himself and countless others like him:

Foolish child, try to remember what you once strived to be.

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