I used to look at older people when I was young and think it must be lovely not to be a tangle of uncertainties and social awkwardnesses. I think it was a mirage. Maybe it was a straight out con.
And, now, here I am, unravelling some of the tangles life left me.
time is a river
I put markers in
like stepping stones
Hearing music, being able to play it, singing it beautifully or singing it as if no-one else exists in the world. Tapping it out, hearing it as you run your fingers along a fence, sensing it in the pulse of another. Feeling it. It all blends to a sweet and personal harmony.
Memory is weak, like water. It is strong, like waves.
I’ve stood there. Same stones. Same sky. But that guy stood there too. He came out of his house of film and captured my world. And then he turned it around and showed it to me.
This is for you, Mister Asimov. This is my unwritten letter. With the warmest of affection and the greatest of admiration.
Making it more complicated to help you memorise something might sound strange, but it works.