Splitting nostalgia into overlapping dimensions ... a recollection of cherished memories, and a yearning to have been an insignificant spectator of the years I did not witness.
All that is left is the scent of revolutionaries and ideals - mired in a senseless world that does not accept the need to strive towards a fragment of justice.
A morose attitude stemming from a society that stifles voices infiltrates life frequently. But dreams are the shield protecting ideals that are bludgeoned even before being voiced.
An era that ridicules dreamers is void of tenacity.