Moments. The heart clings.
Is that the content of life past… the points of light we recall, and the rest fall into the dark interstices of memory.
Isn’t that the most normal thing… like losing skin cells, all but unnoticed, they go quietly back into the churning wheels of life.
As shall us all.
Why then, this clamoring, this binding that comes unbidden, springing from the pit of my being, to hold me in thrall. Breathless for an instant each time these fractions of a second, these created moments, are experienced again.
What wondrous mechanism brings me to treasure these moments so deeply… is it not the same which will one day wash them all away. Life knows nothing of irony, only of progress and Love. Therefore I must assume that to love, is progress; to love what has passed, normal – and to know that loving as I feel it, this too shall pass, is part of the perfect cycles of the cosmos.
