I think I missed my opportunity, and now I feel as if I'd been robbed. I always knew the dreams I conjured in my head about my most recent endeavour were far too idealistic to come true. I'm not sure why I hoped that at least a small part of them would materialise into something tangible. Something real. But as I let it slowly sink in that I will probably never see the ocean from thirty thousand feet above, so far up that you can't make out the waves or any boats, so that the ocean is a great and endless monolith; I can slowly come to accept that imagining it, is still the second best thing, because if I was able to conjure it in my fantasises, that means I could remember it later on. Even though I'll never actually see or experience it, I realised that the voracious ambition of humans is never sated by dreams coming true, because there is always the thought that everything might be done better and again.
