When An Airplane's Engines Fail, It Is

I Thought That If The Right Time Gets Missed, If One Has Refused Or Been Refused Something For Too Long, It's Too Late, Even If It Is Finally Tackled With Energy And Received With Joy. Or Is There No Such Thing As "too Late"? Is There Only "late," And Is "late" Always Better Than "never"? I Don't Know.

Why Does What Was Beautiful Shatter In Hindsight Because It Concealed Dark Truths?

I Didn't Like The Way I Looked, The Way I Dressed And Moved, What I Achieved And What I Felt I Was Worth. But There Was So Much Energy In Me, Such Belief That One Day I'd Be Handsome And Clever And Superior And Admired, Such Anticipation When I Met New People And New Situations. Is That What Makes Me Sad? The Eagerness And Belief That Filled Me Then And Exacted A Pledge From Life That Life Could Never Fulfill? Sometimes I See The Same Eagerness And Belief In The Faces Of Children And Teenagers And The Sight Brings Back The Same Sadness I Feel In Remembering Myself.

There's No Need To Talk About It, Because The Truth Of What One Says Lies In What One Does.

What A Sad Story, I Thought For So Long. Not That I Now Think It Was Happy. But I Think It Is True, And Thus The Question Of Whether It Is Sad Or Happy Has No Meaning Whatever.