It is finished. What is finished, they ask. I am. I am finished now, for I have given up want for the sake of wisdom. I have given up that which I desired most for the promise of a better future. On some level, I have died; an echo of a long line of choices, marching stoically on, armed with naught but unvalidated promises and fervent hopes has trodden over my many graves. But do not fear--there is much of me yet to die.
I wish it didn't have to be this way; that I could do what I want and still what I need, and both at the same time in the same manner. Is it a fault with me, that I want that which is not best for me? I hope so--personal faults can be corrected, but if it is a fault of the world, of man's purpose, then I fear I will never be freed of this my conflict. Will I always be of two minds? I think so. Even three, four, five minds--however many a situation demands. Will I ever be united within myself? Only in death, I believe. There is too much about life that is war for it to be elsewise.
I will trade my dream for gold--sell out my hope and love for the stability of the future. I am still young. Dreams are like young fruit on a young tree for me--numerous and bright and in a great abundance. I may yet sacrifice some of this fruit, but there will come a day when I can spare no more dreams to the fire, when I can let them tumble to the ground no more. For now, though, I will give and I will grieve and I will heal and be the better for it.
But first, let me grieve. I have already given. You cannot ask more.