Distaste for the minimal amount of opportunities, either taken or presented, while younger.

I am not old, but those years of cultivation having just passed by, I am envious of those who were granted full control - or at least the full reward - provided by those years so fruitful. A garden path walked by the princesses as I, a half-man, eyed the outside of their maze in an unfounded aloofness. Every fruit is theirs, and the scene is beautiful as an animated oil painting, but everything that sustains them is distant from my hands. If only I could have used my legs to follow that princess instead of my eyes. Even my eyelids were only half-open, as I spent my time nitpicking. Why should I admire the way she gleans new and exotic morsels with always-careful plucks of her hand, when I let my physical faculties go to waste? Why do I deny myself experience, why do I deny myself the chance to walk by her side?