some type of glass guy
Time hasn’t passed at all for me in some respects. I’m still seven years old, trying to catch a ball being thrown at me. It’s just a different ball now. It was thrown by me, yesterday.
Various details have changed, but underneath them, there is the same pane of bright glass that’s always been there. It shines, itself unpolluted, under all of the pollution. Sure, there are different things drawn on it with various markers. Different hands have held it fumbling, and different sounds have hummed through it. But still it is not subject to age or experience, uncracked even though it’s been slammed against various circumstances.