35. I Love ... picking up a book that I've written in many years ago.

I love reading it.

I don't technicallylove the fact that all that "time" is being held in my hands;

that it's contained between two covers;
that has gone too quickly.
Ridiculously quickly.

I suppose it's better than not being able to hold it at all.

It slips through our fingers.

Gone.
Just like that.

I picked up a book that I had written sporadically in

way back in 1970.

I wish I had written more.

Sometimes I surprise myself with my writing.

Literally.

I am surprised that I have captured my thoughts

fairly effectively.

I am surprised how words on a page

will bring the day back so clearly;

how I can revisit it completely.

Good or bad.