I walked out of there daydreaming, head in the clouds, thinking about words and stories and the poem that I read in class. 'Margaret, are you grieving over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, you with your fresh thoughts care for, can you?' I remembered the first time that I heard these words, in highschool. I don't believe that I ever saw anything other than the perspective of the young girl. Yet 40 years later, I read it, and I immediately saw it from the perspective of the older person watching the tender scene. It was a little shocking, like seeing yourself grow up in timelapse photography.
And then, on the way to work, I heard a song.
I wondered just how many times I'd heard this song. How many times I'd sung along with it. I thought of different ages, and different stages, and different places. I owned that album, you know, and I found myself daydreaming of that teenager. How comforted that young girl would have been to see the life that I have now. She would not have thought it possible. Yet here I am.
Here I am.
You know, sometimes, I can hardly believe it myself.