All desires are ships, and many desires are sailing ships. I have a bird's eye view of the deck, tending slighty astern. The ropes and tackle and on-board equipment are placed neatly. There is evidence of use and travel, but no obvious signs of wear. The deck itself is polished, the wood worn but straight, for all desires are true. There is no sign of life, though the evidence of life is everywhere. We cannot see below deck. My eye encompasses only ten yards or so of the surrounding water. Calm seas, I think, or that is my impression.
Time is not what it was. We hardly see each other anymore. A wave of the hand, a vague smile suffices where once we shook hands or even embraced like long-lost friends.
Maybe it is the town that has changed. I look for and see white picket fences, boys riding bikes, people of all ages walking alone or as couples, sometimes leading or trailing a dog. But perhaps the town has changed somehow, in ways I cannot see. Perhaps the people have changed.
If I asked, would people tell me how they have changed? Is there a story to change or a science? Is anyone, meaning everyone, competent to tell their own story? I thought that took a certain talent and practice.
No matter. At the end of the day I am the one who has lost touch with time. And I am unconcerned, not worried at all, not about time, not one bit.