Memories swirl like sand
through the hourglass of years
and spill into the cold ground
where they are not retrieved.
I used to write poetry. Depressing stuff just like the stanza above. I always found myself fascinated by the beautiful but transitory nature of life.
At 53, I'm no less fascinated by the passage of time, and the ever-decreasing future that I have. 53 years of memory stored in my head. When it's gone, no one will have the same memories as I did. There might be some that we have shared through the years, but even these are colored by the other person's own consciousness. We focus on experience through the lens of our own cameras, and we all have different cameras.
Sorry. Occasionally, I get a bit philosophical.
through the hourglass of years
and spill into the cold ground
where they are not retrieved.
I used to write poetry. Depressing stuff just like the stanza above. I always found myself fascinated by the beautiful but transitory nature of life.
At 53, I'm no less fascinated by the passage of time, and the ever-decreasing future that I have. 53 years of memory stored in my head. When it's gone, no one will have the same memories as I did. There might be some that we have shared through the years, but even these are colored by the other person's own consciousness. We focus on experience through the lens of our own cameras, and we all have different cameras.
Sorry. Occasionally, I get a bit philosophical.
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