seems to me if you cant trust, you cant be trusted

i just read this short essay by Mark Twain, so typically about a river and beauty and whatnot. He goes through the time when he first sees the river, first falls in love with how wonderful it is, and then becomes so acustomed to it that he looses interest. Aesthetic origins are facinating to me. Along with gender identity, sexual education and evolution, where beauty comes from is a big one. What makes things loose that pull? Is that really even true? I dont think i do that, but maybe that makes me different. Im not even sure it matters not to see the beauty in things anymore, and for that i cant imagine why I am so obsessed with it.

I have a lot of nonreal obsessions.