Monday, October 13, 2014
In a comment to a blog post wherein the writer is in search of the area code for 1994 so as to brag to her younger self about where she is today, some reflection had me instead wallowing in regrets and wishes, and I wrote:
I don't want to phone 1994 me, or better, 1984 me. I want to go back there, and shake me, and wake me, and tell me in person what a fleeting moment my 30's and 40's and 50's would be. Oh to have them back again...little did we know.
And with apologies to Shakespeare and to Dowson, I even went a bit wistfully poetic:
They are not long,
These salad days,
These days of wine and roses.
Perchance to dream, but not just to dream,
For yon light does not beckon,
But bears down!
And a dream is just a dream,
While life is but a blur.
Familiarity breeds contempt, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone...ain't it the truth.