Funny thing about letting things sit for a long time. I haven't visited this blog and many years, haven't even thought of it in probably four. And now I'm dictating to a phone that Google is cloud translating on the fly. Certain departure from chicken pecking away into an old MacBook.
Revisiting something can never be the same as living it nor even the same as a previous revisit. Grasping at straws isn't quite what I would call nostalgia, but it might be too familiar a refrain, something that is tangible but not available. Tip of the tongue, top of the head, just out of reach, slipping through my fingers... Seems we can hardly keep up with ourselves quite enough to not miss those moments. The subconscious only providing the elusive glimpses.
Story and song, images, words, all manner of wonderful tools, coping mechanisms really, to help the collective memory. The metamorphosis of the stories is possibly the most telling and dryly interesting story. Certainly not the best one.
Maybe I'm not so far removed from the precocious arrogance of that different man , a previous self, on the hunt and peck. Still living on the same thread, just on the other side of a few knots. The sensation of flow, the continuity and endless quality of a stream, wild turns and shapes and sounds, the observable effects on the surroundings, all makes the analogue between time and water awfully strong for happenstance. We just have a bit of time we call 'our life', which is unanimously too short. It all has the frustrating quality of always changing yet being made up of the same.
Opportunity lays in wait, wild breath remaining to be inhaled. The landmarks are formed on their own accord. The only way to know is to go. Wise people tell us, all the rest will fall in place. Must have been sitting here for a long time.
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