“I’LL JUST KEEP ON dreaming ‘til my heartaches end.” This line, I suppose, is the most intellectual advice you could hear from a human being whose heart, poetically speaking, functions more than his brain—someone who decides according to his feelings rather than his thinking. Scientifically speaking, he must have been predisposed by endogenous opioid peptides called the “endorphin,” which is produced by his pituitary gland and his hypothalamus, thus leading to, for example, a feeling of well being.
Yesterday, I’ve spent hours with two of my high school friends, Lee and Angie. We prattled about such things that are pointless for others, I think; yet there’s one thing I’ve noticed: we’ve grown just enough for our age bracket, but in my case, something has been left behind.
