Emotion recollected in tranquility

Maybe not for the creation of poetry though. I find myself again returning to those furious affections that now seem both essential and, well, quaint, from the perspective of age. Essential as the colours never were so bright, the air never so clear and cold and only the moment so essential. Quaint as it seems that worries now are so much more profound, more serious, permanent. It's hardly the most original observation ever but it's is good to recollect that both assesments are simultaneously true: we can neither dismiss the past nor the present. I do miss the immediacy, the seriousness of those times (maybe not so much the searing pain), and I'm very glad that I got to learn and experience new things about life and love after leaving them.