Gambolling in the park, fresh air and the kind sun. The warmth of today's winter weather kisses my face, away from the florid heat of summer. I close my eyes and remember the gauche childishness of younger days, and how it seemed so hard to rise above that. It's so easy, so easy to follow the crowd. It's hard to be different. But I should have known my difference was for the better. After all, most people are like the rest of the other people: their lives a mimicry, their thoughts are the nattering of the masses, their passions a quotation. The gaudiness of orthodoxy, it's hard to escape; we all need acceptance. But what sets the great apart from the ordinary, is where they find their acceptance from.
