Time Passing

I remember being 18 years old and writing this line in a poem: "Time, pass us by; pick on some other pair of lovers." Well, the pairs have changed a lot, time has changed a lot, and even the word 'pick' has got several meanings.

Time has passed, and with it, so has the entire range of perspectives which one had as an 18-year-old. Everything seems overwhelmingly less serious or more serious; little has remained untouched. Time itself, and the perception of it, seems to have come unglued.

And so it goes, and so it goes.