17 January 2015

On one corner of the city a group of teenagers got into a nasty fight, on another a baby couldn’t stop crying, went pale and gasped for dear life; on another a drunken rider drove too fast, slipped and fell, maybe broke a bone; on another corner a girl burst into cold sweat and winced with much pain. And there is the expecting girl whose tummy just started to come alive with labor pain. And they all end up at the center of the city; some will live through the night, some might not, a few would lose a limb while other would be cut open for repair; life will be lost, life will also be brought upon.

As I was moving around doing what is necessary – asking, probing and examining to do almost anything to make things right for those who needs it, I see a lot of people: people from different backgrounds: different social levels, different attitudes, different problems, different ways of thinking, different ways of approach, different in all possible sense. It drives me to my most variable sense of being, from extreme anger to extreme passion. It also drives me to my utmost submission to the fact that I have my own limits and my utmost submission to my utmost limits; my most and my least.

It also leads me to think about the things that I have never thought of, to do things that I have never even dreamt myself of doing. Some things pushed me to force myself in to certain situations; others pushed me to force myself out of certain situations. You could say it is part of growing up, I’d say growing up gave me a lot, and maybe costs me an equally lot. Who knows? Maybe life is after all a give and take; perhaps you have got to drop a few to pick new things along the way.

Have you ever thought that while you were partying away somewhere probably wasting a lot of resource some people are struggling just to live not even the day but the hour, or perhaps the minutes, counting each and every of them precious seconds? Have you ever imagined leaving a place where people cry because of a dead loved one to witness just a block away people making joyful noise?

While the youths of life would give you tremendous energy to do whatever comes to mind, remember the days that are yet to come, to grow old, to grow weary; you may smile today, you might cry tomorrow and vice versa. While the youths of life burn with blazing flames, remember they can turn to ember anytime, and embers today could ablaze anytime.

Remember your Creator in the days of your youth; happy birthday.

17 January 2015

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Serenity

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   They say you can’t end up with your true love, well for most people if not all. True love or not life has a wicked way of tearing us apart from the ones we desire the most, and the crazy part is it used our own hyper-emotional state of heart to make us either excessively annoying or the other person extremely suspicious. On second thought, I guess it is not true love but rather a search for satisfaction in seeking sensual inspiration often in the least attractive, at least least attractive to the general population, ones.

   Romance starts with a spark, that flames up in the depths of our heart and burns like wild fire. The commencement of a relationship is often the best part that never would be attained again in the future. The zenith of the conditional love created between two people is usually the dawn of it, before we get to know each other, before any complication crops, while we were blind and brave. The first step of an adventure is exciting, full of energy and little bumps and falls are easily skipped over and laughed off. The rough waves of a small tide are actually fun when it rocks the boat that we aboard the sea on. The sun is shining and there is not a speck of cloud in the sky.

   But it is human to tire and exhaust. The first few winds become struggle. The next climb gets tougher, seemingly steeper and the blame game starts. The self-righteous soul is in control and it is but a bad master. For the decent few, insults of a few may be well tolerated but then it gets difficult even for the meek to endure all the way and all the time. Rather, it is impossible. And it doesn’t help to finally lose control of subsiding all the pent up anger and frustrations. Insult starts to fly with the wild wind, multi-directional and slapping across faces in the most indecent manner. Love, is not love at all, considering the way when such claim is easily clouded by anger, frustration, hurt, pride, ego, and the list goes on. A storm is inevitable, and the storm did come.

   There is no say of civilization under the horrendous storm. All hands on deck, but every touchdown has a feedback that made it seem earlier moments look better. Fights after fights, each fight brewing more hurt and pain, each more hideous than the preceding ones. There is no way the ship can be of any help in such a storm, and so we abandon ship. But the storm does not easily go away, and every break-up does not immediately put an end to all the misery. The hurt goes on, as the storm kept on thrashing the sea, like it is about to disembowel it, if it should have any bowel that is. The pain lingers like the contractions of an expecting mother, it aches, it subsides, it aches again, each contraction goes harder, each pain hurts more. Melancholy drives you insane, like you might just lose your mind, and sometimes you do. Actions untold of, reasons uncalled for, stupid deeds with no explanation at all, more embarrassing moments, more hurt.

   It is not for the heart to thrive in a storm or to be strikened by hurt all the time, it tires out. The fight for something thought of value dies if it does not give a favorable outcome. You can’t win all fights, very true; so sometimes the heart got to lose. There comes a time when everything that has been held dear is just a hopeless nothing, a useless, formless void that does not stand for anything. No more screams, no more cries, no more tries, just silence. All you want to do is sit quietly all by yourself and void yourself of anything that might even in the slightest manner creep into your thoughts. You feel drained, exhausted and completely empty. There is no good nor bad that is left in you. No news can strike you, there is no bad news that’s too bad, there is no good news that’s exciting. Anything and everything is a ‘whatever’.

   In a way, nothing can hurt you anymore. The storm has died out, and the sea is as clear as ever. The clouds have parted and the sky is clearer than the sea that reflected it. Numbed, nothing can hurt you anymore because you really don’t care and it doesn’t really matter. What happen or will happen is not going to change anything nor is it going to bring anyone back. Indifferent, nothing can get your attention. The world is just a fancy materialization of dreams that does not really come true, just another false alarm, trickery and all lies. And with time, gentle breeze and soft tide, you just sail along and mindlessly aboard any ship that would pick you up.

   The spark that became a wild fire dimmed down to that of a lighthouse, from lighthouse to a flaming torch, from torch to a candle. Candle flame flickers down to that of a matchstick, to ember and to darkness. A cold hard darkness that once used to be a wonderful glow of warmth and life, a
forest fire, a lighthouse.

   I think I almost got the point why we can’t settle down with our true love. We get emotional, we get jealous, we get fussy and the list goes on. It is stressful, we hurt too much, like we are in a storm. But when we lose hope and the storm subsides, when nothing can hurt because we are numb, when nothing can attract us because we are not interested, that is when we are finally ready to settle down, our serenity.

12 May 2013
4.50PM

Prologue

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Monday 22 April 2013 12:35AM

I was a child, pious and free
Safe from chaos this world could be
Alive and living
A free human being
Counted my days, gleaming with glee. 

I am a soldier, life is war
Sword and shield, burns, bruises and scars
Alive but barely
Alone and lonely
Clinging barely to life so dear. 

I will be a man, strong and bold
Survive I will, both fire and sword
Amazed you will be
At what I shall be
Come life, come chaos, heed my word.

Memories

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1:55 AM Sunday, April 21, 2013

A word with the silence isn’t too bad
Alone on the stairs I don’t give a care
A day on my own with ease I can bare
But these memories they do make me sad

   I can ease through a day just being on my own, in fact most times I prefer to stay alone; just letting myself loose on random thoughts and daydreams without any external disturbance can be blissful at times. When the world grows too murky with worries I no longer know the answer to, it is such quiet moments that would help me recollect myself back when I insidiously had lost myself piece by piece, fragment by fragment to the troubles of the human ways. Much like the quiet after the storm, or was that the calm after the storm? Anyway, whatever the popular phrase for it may be, it holds for the same reason: a complete, almost selfish, much needed time all to oneself. That critical moment when we take the time to strip down, get naked, and get vulnerable just for the sake of recollecting and rebuilding ourselves and thus perhaps brace for the upcoming storm. So, is it the calm before the storm now? It doesn’t matter; I guess we all need such times, just to ourselves, nothing more.

   Home is familiar enough to me, rather too familiar at times. The incredible flight of stairs to the top floor where an extension is made on the roof to accommodate my family, the quietness and privacy offered by the stairs at night, the darkness without lights, that familiar smell of night air mixed with that of fuel from vehicles which frequent the road on the side of which our building was built, that particular spot on the stairs where I then sat smoking cigarettes which now I do alone, that smelly spot near the black cylindrical water reservoir we call syntax, smelly because the outlet of the septic tank chimney opened so nearby, where a certain first kiss was made, that peculiar feeling when after church service at night the flight of stairs bestows, that nagging feeling while locking up the gate especially late at night, and that useless deed of looking down upon the metalled road just before I signed off for the night.

   I have been to quite a lot of places and held a lot of memories both good and bad. I have had the burden of needing to rid myself of the attachments to some places I’d spent a little longer than the others. The catch was to move on, not just a mental effort but a simultaneous physical distancing that exponentially assisted me in continuing to live without having to forget but to remember without having to paralyze life in my new home, and the acceptance without grudge of the necessity of the new beginning. And here is a new challenge, to move on while submerged in real, touchable, visible, perceptible, and smellable, in all sense sense-able evidence of the life that I am in dire need to release myself from and yet with a powerful illusion that made me feel as if it is agonizing to do so.

   Such is the nature of these memories, too good to just let it slip from my grasp, too bad to let it haunt my life that deserves something or rather someone a whole lot better. At times the heart tries to relish in the good, no, specks of could-be-better times which now seemed like specks of stars on a rather cloudy night sky that twinkles in and out of the heart which is now muddled with anger, frustration, agony, regret and coldness from lost hope, and it twinkles out of sight no matter how hard you strained your sensitive heart to perceive the lights. At times the mind amuses over the delusive nature of the heart that remembers which is much desired to be forgotten and forgets that which is much desired to be held on to, memories.

The wrong end of a burning cigarette

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   Lighting a cigarette means taking it on your lips, let the free end burn with fire and suck on it so that it catches fire. While at the other end you suck and inhale the pleasures of nicotine, it is always at the expense of burning the free end to ashes. The more ‘puffs’ you take, the more tobacco you burn, the shorter the cigarette goes; until it is all burned up. You usually get satisfaction of smoking after you burn the whole length of the cigarette.

   Now, at the right end of the cigarette is the where you get bliss; but if you’re at the wrong end, you end up with blisters.

   Sometimes in life, it feels like we’re at the wrong end of the burning cigarette. All the good things you have planned for disappeared just like that, all the bad things you have feared for just keep on coming, when you think things can’t get any much worse, it just keep on getting worse until you are so confused that you can’t even figure out the worst one among them! Everything just turned to ashes, just like at the burning end of a cigarette.

   All these shall pass, until then; I’d just hung on tight to whatever I’m holding and let the rain pour down on me. Perhaps someone might come up with an extra large umbrella. Even if not, I’m sure the dark clouds will quickly run dry, and the sun will shine again.

Thus wed thee

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Thursday, January 24, 2013

(dedicated to Mr. Lalthantluanga, written on the eve of one of the most important moment of his life, upon which fate be generous, days be kind and God forbid any sense of misfortune befall him)

Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone;
I will make him a helper as his partner.”

   Man is a social animal. No one can live without the other; we all need each other in one way or the other, some way or the other. We start our life with family to support us, then we have friends, and then some intimate ones, finally ending up with a partner for life, and we go right back to where we started, family; the fated circle of life.

   What is love? Everybody has his own answer. While for some a blossoming garden, for others it has spelled doom for more valiant men and lovely, capable women. It is not just a feeling; it is that treasure, that elixir, that manna, the life force of a relationship that holds every other emotional force in its power. To accept without exception, to hope without expect; to endure without complaining, to trust without doubt; to reason but never to judge, and to hold each other with no more second thoughts.

   There is only so much that one can say from this side of the boat, only so much that second degree voices can make. Thus I remind myself not to judge but to be compassionate, not sneer but to smile, not to wound but to heal, if things should turn out the least way expected.

   Each one of us is the sum total of every moment we’ve ever experienced, with all the people we’ve ever known. And it’s these moments that become our history, like our own personal greatest hits of memories that we play and replay in our minds over and over again. These moments of impact, these flashes of high intensity, of total physical, mental, and every other kind of love; these moments of impact define who we are.

   To help him love his life, to always hold him with tenderness, to have the patience that love demands, to speak when words are needed and to share the silence when they’re not; to agree, to disagree; to live within the warmth of his heart and always call it home.

   To love her in all her forms, to never forget that this is a once in a lifetime love, to always know in the deepest part of his soul that no matter what challenge might carry them apart, they’ll always find a way back to each other.

   Thus wed thee.

Letter to you

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   “If only you could be here, things wouldn’t be as bad as they seem to be. I’d give almost anything for you to be alive today. Now all that’s left is this memory of you, and visit where they lay you, six feet under.”

   Why does the star shine in contradiction to the beauty you emit here when you were with us? Why were those short memories you left felt like relics that just went beyond my ability to excavate from my own lonely mind? When did you ever stop shining? What trouble befell you that you gave way to such horrible retreat? It’s not like you, to walk away in the middle of your absolutely beautiful song!

   I remember the time you and dad were cooking. When the time for supper came, we all had a good laugh as you opened the rice cooker to rice all brown from being burned which turns out that you forgot to pour water before closing the lid to cook. I could recall only a meager amount of memory I’d known you spent with us, and I treasure them as best as I could. Secretly smoking out of either fear of or respect towards dad, which one I did not know, was one funny memory which I, to my surprise, happened to repeat the very same deed.

   It was blissful to hear you active in church after left us. But a couple of years later, it was more than shocking to hear you gave in to intoxicating drinks. I was young back then, and I didn’t understand much of it. So I simply shook the shock away into thinking that it’d be only a temporary phase in your struggles and that you’d be better soon. Now I know I was terribly wrong!

   Life has its demands and toils, I continue to spend most of my days busy with school and continue with college without a single year to break. You’d come to mind once in a while, and I couldn’t wait to finish my studies. The feeling rocketed when I one day, during a vacation in my final year, asked my mom about you and she said the same sad thing which I ever so dread. That was when I made up my mind that possibly with the profession and the skills I require I’d take care of you.

   And one day, after having finished all my college duties, flunked in two papers and waiting for the time I could give my exams again to clear the papers, I asked mom again, and I felt as though my breath itself was ready to leave me. News so old, yet so new, yet so old, yet so shocking! I just kept everything to myself and quietly observed the mental clash between what I heard, what I wished for, and the undeniable truth; death. Mom said it happened a long time ago, that made it even worse.

   I was having this dream, this plan, that even in your worst condition I’d be there as soon as I was capable. Death was never an option; never was, never is and never will be! And I didn’t even know it happened! The funny part that I was mentally bracing myself to the condition I’d see you in was hilarious as you already died, isn’t funny at all! And just to make it worse, you came to me in a dream and told me of your struggles. That took my thoughts away for weeks, and nothing makes it better ‘cause it’s useless information now.

   And every time I get a little lonely, every time I get a little sad, I’d think of you and I’d somehow comfort myself. I’d like to think that you’re now watching me as I stand under the stars on a cold winter night, when the sky is clear and the stars are bright, I’d think of you. And as I’d write this letter to you, I don’t know where to send it ‘cause it’ll just get lost in the blues, as there is no address in the stars.

   The other day parents of a so-called friend of mine told me I looked just like you. That’s when I smiled my best smile and lit up instantly ‘cause the only image of you I recalled was that of your perfect smiling face. I guess I could now try to live my best as having a same name and a same-looking face; I might just be able to live in your stead and do all the good deeds you might have planned to.

Remembering him

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May 6, 2012 at 7:41pm

Those who are special, they never go away. They walk beside you everyday, unseen and unheard; still near, still special, still missed and still very dear.

   I have never met him in his lifetime but I felt like I knew him all along.  He was promoted to glory on a date same as today’s (6th May) and on a day like today’s (Sunday). I’d like to think that the moon shone brightly like it did tonight and stars watch over him as the Ancient of days finally decided to take his pain away for all eternity. And even though I’d like to think of myself as his reincarnation, I immediately thought that impossible in all manner of consideration because I was born the same year as he was; just two different happy couples relishing over their new born dream. But then, I’d like to think of him as my spiritual bother simply born to different parents. Even so, I am not ashamed to admit that I am not and will never be as special as he was in all aspect of word, thought and deed.

   Gifted would be just one of the many characters he exhibited during his short but blessed life here on earth. He was nothing short of an artist, be it with a pencil or pen. His written thoughts ever treasured by the ones who missed him most. I take pride in sharing with his writing skills and finding meaning in the songs that we’d listen to. Every aspect of life, even the simplest of word, deed or thought has meaning and beautiful ones too. Talented is another I can think of, not in any other sense but talented in loving dear ones, talented in building relationships, talented in giving happiness, talented in loving his God; altogether very, very special.

   I daresay he had had his moments of weakness in life as a thickheaded, perplexingly stubborn teenager. But why should I consider one minor wrong turn he made when all I can do is cherish the rest 99% of impeccable memory? Could have anyone been so caring? Never running out of beautiful words like ‘I love you’ and ‘Thank you’ wherever he go, never exhausted of words like ‘I am sorry’ and ‘Please forgive me’ when he’d commit minor mistakes. Could anyone be so possibly graceful?

   I guess it’s true what songwriters wrote out ‘The good ones die young’. He is one prominent testament for my ever bold proclamation that ‘we all live the lifetime we are meant to’. He may have been gone for six years now but he is more than alive in all the painful sense in the hearts of the ones he meant most. I daresay he is much more alive than most of us who kept to ourselves, oblivious to the world and the world to us. He is still touching hearts, still changing lives, still giving joy and still bringing tears six years after his corporeal existence.

   I think of the last few month of his time here on earth, and it breaks my heart. Diseased with a viral infection, the medical side of me partly wanders to the possible symptoms–the pain he would have had suffered. He was alone, taking care of the kind of people he once used to be, loving them in all their being–their best and worst part. He was there for the children of the God he loves, but no such child was there for him. His ill and suffering days, when for so many nights he’d have gone to bed in a lot of pain, all alone, aches me to even think of! I can almost see him struggling with the meagre amount of energy he had left, as each day his illness drains the life-force out of him, making him go pale and hurting. He must have remembered that he had a mother and a sister in the medical profession who could have taken care of him the best way imaginable, and must have missed them so badly. Sometimes I even reckon he’d cry in bed albeit quietly, but then I’d chuck the thought away because I want to think of him as a strong person.

   I don’t even know how to start thinking about his last week. You see, he didn’t even get to spend much time in the hospital, he was pronounce deceased soon after. I can only imagine how much he’d suffer without getting any care. Once again, my medical background gives me thoughts like high fever, chills and rigor, convulsions, altered sensorium, delirium, hallucinations; and it gave me no peace at all! Would he have embarrassed himself in his subconscious suffering? I could never picture him messed-up, or screaming in pain, or uttering nonsense. How would he have looked just before he died? I don’t know, but I do know that he need not have struggled to death; he was going home, home to his eternal Father.

   Even then, like all of us locked up in a decaying body sustained by the life-force of our soul, it pains to have to think that his face could not have been as beautiful as it originally was, his body cold and stiff. No more warm smile, no more pleasant vibe, his soul left his body. No more warm ‘hellos’ to greet his friends who came to have one last glance of this prince. Everything has come to a standstill. The clock once again seemed to tick away so slowly and yet so fast. It felt like time has slowed down to prolong the pain of mourning this prince, yet it felt like time was not enough to hold him even for just one long last time.

   The mother who once rejoiced over her special and an only begotten son now wept bitterly with a heart broken beyond comprehension. She thought to herself, and she cannot think straight; so she cried ‘My son, my son, my love’. She remembered the many patients she’d nurse to health, and she is broken because she did not even get to nurse her own son, her own flesh and blood even just for a night. She is hurt, she is angry, she is frustrated, she felt hopeless, and she felt helpless. She wants to scream, tears are too pitiful, unfit to mourn her prince. She is in agony, she is devastated, she is desperate; she is mourning.

   A loving sister deemed useless of her healing talents as she now observe he only brother, finding herself beside his dead body. She finds it too hard, too much. This cannot be! If she could just take back all the hard work she did to every other patient and exchanged it for but just a night to hold her brother in his dying bed. But nothing can make it better, nothing heals, nothing helps and nothing counts.

   Have I told you, that he is beautiful? He has an aura about him that move mountains, and I can tell you this even though I have never met or seen him. He is the same kind of person, that same kind of fussiness, perfectionism, emotional affection and compassion. The last time I went to his place I saw his picture, he is handsome too. There was this nephew of his, a splitting image of his now departed uncle, and I thought to myself, if only he could see his adorable nephew how happy he’d be. And then it broke my heart to see two more kids, a niece and another nephew he would surely have loved beyond crazy, and then I just prayed quietly ‘God, I hope you’re making him see his beautiful nephews and niece’.

   Six years then, and now the hearts of his family are suddenly renewed with sorrow and mourning. They say time is a panacea, that time heals, but truly time is not even that good a panacea for when all those years they have hoped the tears will slowly fade and remember only the good ones, it is but the good ones now that begets the tears in their eyes as if it were the very same day he passed away all over again.

..It’s not like you to walk away in the middle of a song
You’re beautiful song; you’re absolutely beautiful song…

Slow healing

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   As the shopkeeper was busy counting notes to return to me the driver started the engines, and as I ran back in a hurry the bus was already starting to move. In my desperation for fear of being left behind I clung to the door with one arm and one leg on the board. But it sped faster and I fell, colliding with the giant tires. The next moment I opened my eyes I was in terrible pain and I couldn’t feel my right arm. All this happened in less than ten minutes. In comparison to that, it took me ten whole days in the hospital, more months incapacitated at home and more than two years now to still recover from the aftermath of that accident. And here I am, still yet recovering physically and mentally with scars across my right arm. Who’d have guessed a few minutes encounter would haunt me through the years?

   In the hospital, wounds of varying degrees are brought every day. The cleanest and least severe of which would be bandaged up and asked for a follow up check that would take at least a week, and still yet more time to heal completely. Less obvious is that big difference in time taken to injure and the time taken to heal. Such is the nature of healing.

   The human heart is no different. It takes only a small amount of time, a small misdeed, few wrong vocabularies, accidental misdeeds of the drunken state to cause so much hurt that left a gaping wound in our wake. The problem with injuries is that even though they may heal, it takes a whole lot of time and incredible efforts to nurse that wound to heal. And it is only devastating to know that no heart that breaks could ever be the same again. The pieces of a broken pot may be put together, but it will never regain its normal shape. Rather, far from it.

   However, in my effort for optimism I for one would like to think that we get hurt, broken down and crushed to become better. An ugly pot can after all be broken down and reshaped into a more beautiful one. It is the aftermath of the collision that counts most. Let the hurt come, let us be broken, crushed and demolished; for this is life, and life is but not without its pains. But I give more importance to the ‘what happens after the hurt?’ What do we make out of a fight? Give me two very different people; I’d say a fight is unavoidable at one time or the other! But what happens after a fight, or fights? A fight is but just another way of overcoming the differences, especially in a relationship. Better it is to speak out and have a good fight than to sport a cold heart. Overcome the differences, be it acceptance or submission, let it all be in a good heart, better still if out of love.

   Whatever the aftermath maybe, I still think it be good to think twice before hurting another than to have to struggle with a wound that heals all but too slowly. What was never meant to be injured, when is so, becomes vulnerable many times over before it can heal properly. I’d admit that I have given my fair share of hurt to others, and received a handsome amount too. And that leaves me to say: do not hurt anyone if you are not up to healing it; and even if you are so, it’d be wise still not to hurt at all. You can never imagine the hardship you cause to the recipient you hurt, you are only too full of yourself.

I hope you dance

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I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
– Admiration

You get your fill to eat
– Abundance

But always keep that hunger
– Enthusiasm

May you never take one single breath for granted
– Gratitude

God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
– Security

I hope you still feel small when you stand by the ocean
– Humility

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
– Opportunity

Promise me you’ll give faith a fighting chance
– Perseverance

 

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance
– Optimism

 

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
– Courage

Never settle for the path of least resistance
– Struggle

Living might mean taking chances, but they’re worth taking
– Adventure

Lovin’ might be a mistake, but it’s worth making
– Passionate

Don’t let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter
– Positivity

When you come close to selling out, reconsider
– Improvement

Give the heavens above, more than just a passing glance
– Appreciate

 

Time is a real and constant motion, always rolling us along.
Tell me who wants to look back on their youth, and wonder where those years have gone?