Aucun
I think we measure out time like long indentations in the sand left by the ebbing tide. It may even then be hard to realize our newfangled dealing in love or respect, where social anxiety becomes the commonality of expression. When did words gain so much meaning, when did words have so much power of existence. Over Identity, over myself. I'm not really sure where to begin even now ending my night of a tortuous working life that as Marx would say is exploiting my labor. Maybe we're all more Prufrock-like than we want to believe; I have laid out the days of my life by coffee spoons and other such regressions, transmigrations of the soul to a prior time. In hindsight it always seems like we could have done things differently, been better at some things etc.
Still will you remember as I do how three little words can change everything?
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Still will you remember as I do how three little words can change everything?
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