The same house on the same street. The same people come over to visit, greet you warmly, ask how you are. You tell stories and you catch up. You share moments. You remember good times. You remember bad times, but you always try to remember the good times more. You promise to stay in touch and try to keep the promise this time.
Comfort is drawn from the old haunts, and sometimes memories are made in new ones. Sometimes you just break away and savor the moment of savoring a moment. Sometimes you gaze toward the crashing waves and wonder what it’s all about, wonder how long you have left, wonder how many more times you can come back, gaze lazily and just wonder.
Time is a thief and as the years roll by you marvel at the continual defiance we all display in the face of it. You pray that everyone’s run is as long as yours of course but you know that’s impossible. Some are ahead, some are further behind and some just started the race themselves. They can do nothing but sit and regard the circus, the cacophony around them. You wonder what they think of it all. And others are near the end of their time, and they similarly lie back and regard the commotion surrounding them. They remember years of commotions’ past and marvel at how little things have changed even though everything is different now. We begin again.
If you can’t truly go home again you can at least reach out and touch home, if only for a fleeting moment. Even if the time flies by in a busy blur and you’ve but a moment to sit and remember when, but a moment with a loved one to remember, you become that person you were then for that moment. You may have changed, they may have changed, where you are may have changed, but in that moment you’re who you were then, you remember.
You remember.
Try to remember.
--Joe
Comfort is drawn from the old haunts, and sometimes memories are made in new ones. Sometimes you just break away and savor the moment of savoring a moment. Sometimes you gaze toward the crashing waves and wonder what it’s all about, wonder how long you have left, wonder how many more times you can come back, gaze lazily and just wonder.
Time is a thief and as the years roll by you marvel at the continual defiance we all display in the face of it. You pray that everyone’s run is as long as yours of course but you know that’s impossible. Some are ahead, some are further behind and some just started the race themselves. They can do nothing but sit and regard the circus, the cacophony around them. You wonder what they think of it all. And others are near the end of their time, and they similarly lie back and regard the commotion surrounding them. They remember years of commotions’ past and marvel at how little things have changed even though everything is different now. We begin again.
If you can’t truly go home again you can at least reach out and touch home, if only for a fleeting moment. Even if the time flies by in a busy blur and you’ve but a moment to sit and remember when, but a moment with a loved one to remember, you become that person you were then for that moment. You may have changed, they may have changed, where you are may have changed, but in that moment you’re who you were then, you remember.
You remember.
Try to remember.
--Joe
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