Spring

When the results of this collegiate quarter are etched in finality, some - myself included - may deem my efforts lackluster, a disappointing end to an otherwise fair senior session. Indeed, if these judgments were to be waged against me I would have little in the traditional reservoir of excuses and explanations to defend myself; I wouldn't anyway. Lack of motivation...too much wine...too much pot...too many nights spent falling asleep to the voices of old comrades and the joyous, soul-crushing laughter of simplicity. It is true that I engaged in all the aforementioned with an appreciation heretofore unseen - a gusto that ripped at the threads of routine and stepped on the tatters of that nasty, nightmarish future in which none of us Exist, where our nights are shorter and our souls no longer get crushed. We possess life's bounty in the spontaneous nanoseconds of our smoke-filled mosaics, our kingdoms where loyalty, history and youth all work in unison to form the noble bloodline. For those imagined critics and my own self-doubt, I urge the steadfast remembrance of this human experience - the apex of our participation - for it is, in the end and always, the reason Why.