Reflections

Hindsight acuity usually feels 20:20, but feelings are, by definition, an emotionally clouded subjective perception of an individual and unique experience.  No two people feel the same thing at the same time, or have the same desires and goals, or assign the same importance to a shared experience.  My reflections are not yours, and your vaues are not mine.  The best we can hope for is a shared destination - we grow old and then depart.

A beauty of life, one of many, is the softening caress of time.  It flows under our bridges - those constructs we build to protect us from life's passing - and away, carrying downstream the sharp details, washing our memories from an uncomfortable resolution to a softer fog.  It's something to rely on.  Time.

We view our own faces reflected in the mirror of recollection, our wrinkles and sags smoothed, pain less distinct, scars much faded.  It's been years since I looked for a halo of hope, a direction to shine - but I think it could be there.  Faintly.  But halos are risky, ethereal, surreal.  They have teeth and a hunger for souls, but they reward the risk-taker, sometimes.