It hits you at absurd moments. How fast time passes, how things are changing. Six years gone like that.
And all I’m left with are photos which look more unfamiliar and more foreign as the days go by and memories which slowly disfigure and discolour by time’s evil hand.
But what can I do? It’s inevitable, it’s unstoppable. I just hope that in ten, thirty, fifty years time, when I’m sitting there, old and frail, recounting the wonders of my past, that these same people will be there, sitting next to me, giving me props of what I’ve forgotten as we laugh over our past deeds.
Please, let it be so.
