A stream of consiousness
Life becomes this endless pattern of stories, stories to be told. People to meet, people you’ve met. Some people stay, but most people go & along with the river we flow. Every job, every year at school, every holiday, every weekend, every vacation and every day... a different life time. How beautifully – painfully – nostalgic is that? Each person I meet I know a bond will grow– but soon I will go. Every love – every first kiss – every dance – every drink – every hangover– every moment, a life time ago. With this knowledge I am never present, because I am always fantasizing about the next life time. A life time to be lived - a life time to be forgotten. A life time ago.