When the fog became God

Here we begin, in near-paradise, our lives. New and untainted, we spend our days broadening our horizons and our minds, spotting migratory birds, sitting by the lakes at sunset and walking and walking and walking. In this  bubble we forget our Self, or perhaps the multitude of Selves we used to be. Here, we are new. We have no shame, and nothing to hide. Here, we are cocooned if we choose to be so. And here, there will be no judgments. Come tomorrow, we will not be called to account for what we did. It's really a rather carefree, mirth-filled existence. Life is endless readings, overpriced cigarettes and coffee, the search for authentic tea, beautiful windy mornings with hints of a chill and a lack of men (we don't complain about that, believeyoume).
We study music, and gender, and philosophy, and the environment- we rattle them all out in one breath, like it's really the most normal thing in the world. We have big dreams, we want to make this world a better place. We really tend to believe modern-day versions of fairy tales here. Here is where no one notices the colour of your skin, where you come from, your religion or the lack of it, your sexual orientation- really, nothing matters much. We go from being 17 to 25 in a matter of seconds, and back even quicker.
And what about me?
I fear this new-found freedom will convert the misfit in me from it's dormant state to a bitter, unfitting part of the Life Puzzle when it is time to leave.