Essence shared. Light being turned on for me. A sense of warmth. A sense of love–agape love, of course. No need to resurrect old dreams for the sake of sacrificing new ones. Wistful longing for the perfect human narrative. A beautiful narrative arc, involving time spent at the beach, the mountains, the great cities. Time spent with friends who will be friends for life, and lovers who will still be friends when they are no longer lovers. But then, the one true love, and the old Victorian home, and the garden, and the quaint town that is charming in its eccentricity without becoming oppressive in its bigotry.
The hiccups and tragedies along the way are all poetic and beautiful and make for great poetry and short stories, but they never take you down into a dreary existence that owns you and turns you into a peasant. You can play at being a peasant on any given day, but there are no moments in this story where life has rendered you so poor or bereft of rich friends that you are forced to be a peasant without irony.
The essence shared with you is given in abundance, and not intended to be anything more than a charitable offering–like an extra half of sandwich when the giver is too full. You would be a complete fool to do anything more than take eat the extra sandwich half.
There are long days, though, when you never thought that being an adult would be so long and full of lonely moments. There are days when you can still imagine what a promised dream of everything used to look like.