Thoughts Conceived in Solitude

I spoke with myself recently, as I often tend to do, and I realized that as we look around at this town and this world, it is all still the same. In a thousand different situations, a thousand different settings, the only changes have been slight. All the mystery, crookedness, sadness, doom, and hope that radiates from this world now, seems to have always been here. Whether or not that is a good thing depends on how you see it. Some find the concept a bit disturbing, but to others, it is a relief. While all the crooked sadness seems doomed to repeat itself, so does a mysterious thing called hope. Perhaps one day we will better ourselves.
I spoke with myself recently, as I often tend to do, about the qualities of this world that seem to repeat themselves. The way innocence is corrupted by the common-man's reality, the way humans rush through without stopping to see natural beauty, and the ways they do their best to beat it into the mangled world we live in now, the way everyone seems to scream unimportant nonsense at each other, only seeming to get us all into deeper trouble than we already were, right back to the now corrupted innocence spreading like an infection into the minds of the next generations at younger and younger ages. I told myself, "I wish just once the entire world would just stop together, take a look around, and think, 'What on earth am I doing here?'" to which myself replied to I, "Even if they did, would it make a difference?"
"It probably wouldn't," I responded to myself, and myself reminded I that at one point or another the world probably has thought this. There are people trying to better themselves, along with warnings both natural and un, that disaster may strike at any given time because of the corrupt nature of certain humans that creep among us, yet we are trained from a young age to ignore them all. "It will all turn out fine," I may have once said to myself, to which myself now would reply to I, "Do you honestly believe that?"
I spoke with myself recently, as I often tend to do. I asked myself, "Do you believe all humans are corrupt, or doomed to become corrupt?" to which myself replied to I, "Maybe not now, but eventually, if these ways continue." "But what of the youth?" I spoke in defense, "The ones who have not yet seen the common-man's reality? What will happen to them?" "Even the young see it eventually," spoke myself reasonably. "Sooner or later they are all blinded by emotion or social status, and even they will blend into the grey with the rest." "But not all of them, right?" asked I, that mysterious hope hidden in the words. "Maybe not all," replied myself, the words slightly crooked with doom.
I spoke with myself today, as I often tend to do, about what will happen next to this world. "How can we help? There must be something." "Can we really," answered myself, "If no one is willing to listen?" I thought about this. Why does the world only listen to one-sided arguments? Is it all they ever know? "Maybe we don't have to make them listen," I said slowly, "Maybe they'll just figure it out on their own. And if not, at least we have the opportunity of a fun ride to the end." "We are not doomed to the same reality as the common man?" to which I replied to myself, "Not yet, and hopefully not ever. We'll see and hear and learn what they will not, and when they finally run this planet into the ground, we'll be able to smile on the way down. The world can never be perfect, but for us it will be enough." "I don't think I like this world anymore," myself sighed sadly, but I still smiled. "Most don't. But if we don't, how will we ever expect any one else to?"