Life. You think you start out plump and juicy, but you lose that juice of tangy stupidity as you gain wisdom. While you trade the fluidity of youth for wrinkled, settled plans of action, you find yourself to be the product of that process.
In its early days, the grape must cluster together, thriving through the peers of its vine to learn how to survive. Not much use is there for a single grape in isolation, for its innards disappoint upon first application of pressure, leaving an empty casing of confusion. No purpose remains for its polished outward aesthetics. The raisin has its potential to impress in isolation, its mature character topping your expectations. Even if it is forcefully infused with warm liquid forays, it will plump up to comply. Never would it alter its confectionery centers or regress to its arrogant beginnings.
The raisin is a new being, sweet for what it is, resembling an age-old brain, complex and wrinkled to show its amassed worth. In that journey, the acidic repugnant tart character of its inexperienced grape evaporates. Thankfully, it is concentrated into a concrete lump of sweetness, willingly conforming to its shape of its circumstances. The plump boastful creature turns to a lean result-oriented product of purpose. The mature being does not regret the journey.