The stranger's deed of kindness without ulterior motive that reignited your hope for a species that too often seems devoid of a heart; someone's words that conveyed and confirmed what you'd sensed and felt and breathed but could not express; the outpour of pain and despair incited by that first heartbreak that turned the entire world into a stage where pain was the only show playing until the end of time; the day love first appeared at the door and said you were invincible, and immortal.
It is moments that make up our lives. Most grow blurred with the passing of time. Off they drift — inanimately, without direction or destination — off into a bittersweet horizon. And on a certain level, in some way, we bid these memories a most reluctant goodbye — a silent "Thank You" for stopping by, for joining up and arranging themselves in just that very way they did. Because regardless of how dark or dismal or hopeless life has seemed at times, it is our story — our ongoing, open-ended (at least for you reading these words at this moment) narrative.
In younger years we were able to see only what was obviously before us, we lacked the ability to see the big picture. Each and every drawback, no matter how trivial, seemed to summon the end of the world, literally. It's time that offers one the gift of meaningful reflection. So one can't really blame the youth for this temporary blindness, for there are a thousand and one other concerns in those years, which I'm sure we have at very least a vague inkling of..
—JLG
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