How horrid is it that we can never reattain a moment. I ponder often how blissful it would be to fall into the lap of the sixties.
My opinion of time fluctuates.
I enjoy her ability to build and admire her capability to extinguish life, but more often than not she is the topic of hasty complaints and resenting remarks.
I believe time to be more complicated than the clock that clicks for every second of every day that the double-A's survive.
It has a circulatory pattern (much like that of the clock on the wall) and is a painfully relentless host.
Our hopes fade
Our memories are forgotten
Our dreams are lost
I don't mean to be so pessimistic. The truth is- time is a beautiful sculptor who becomes weary of things that linger...giving us several great eras that we can imagine to be glorious without living in them- she may be productive after all.
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