Perhaps this is the fruit of life. The little moments where you swell to surpass the little fences that we’ve become boxed into, the rules and regulations demanding that your leisure must not exceed these limits. You get just a little too rowdy, a little too passionate, a little too confident. Lest you take a chance that pays off or explore something new and wonderful, don’t tread beyond the gates of reason. Listen for your heart to cry out, only you can hear its song and only you know what it sings. It cries “this is the fruit of life!” There is no measure that will ever be more accurate. 

Perhaps we do have one more glass of wine. What say we indulge in an expensive art piece. I think I might say up past my bedtime. Life is lived with such restraint, not because we are timid creatures, but because we are tempestuous ones made to live with little means. We always have just too little money to be comfortable, just too little freedom to pursue our ambitions, just too little know how to get involved. 

It has become foreign for us to take chances and routine for us to live within constraints. We’ve been tempered over long slow heat. But we can still tend to the part of us that hungers to be capricious. Every once in a while, allow yourself to take a risk. Splash out, endeavor, act foolishly. Such tender kindling will foster a small and steady flame to hold on to. 

Indulge. Often and routinely. Know your heart and trust thyself to lead you true. Should your intentions be of good faith – of deep, boundless passion – indulge. And you’ll find that it is never too much. Maybe the fruit of life is the moments that you let yourself have everything the world intended for you before man played god.