At the forward moving point of time I stand,
behind me rests the past, a mixture of triumphant highs and cavernous lows.
A series of vignettes frozen in time.
At the forward moving point of time I sit,
each moment new.
I am blind at entry and wiser at exit.
Every moment...
Every moment a birth and death of opportunity.
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1 comment:
like the wedding or the funeral in "Certain Women". I like it.
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