One can spend a lifetime planning and worrying, without actually living.
Which, in certain cases, could be the point.
Or there is an urge for continually gaining information, then finding no time left to use it.
Distractions and mortality.
Death negates security.
The dead take our shared history with them. Part of a reflection in the social mirror is missing.
If I live long enough, that mirror may contain nothing except my haunted stare.
This desire for oneness, in my isolation, makes me vulnerable.
The reward of love is love; but it cannot be demanded.
Are chains of my past purely psychic?
I sit gazing at items in the room.
I may hold one, even print a name upon it, yet these objects do not feel like possessions. The relation is more “being with” than “having.”
Things retain an essential apartness. It is for me to ascribe their significance.
I spread meaning into my world.
Time is a medium of transformation.