There are paths ahead I must wander,
And mountain peaks to climb.
I regret and can hardly imagine
My leaving you behind.
How far away is away?
How long does a journey last?
How perfect is the perfect moment,
Without a future, with scarcely a past?
Where did the minutes and hours go
That brushed by unobserved?
Or the furtive glances that we stole,
And the lines we crossed or willingly blurred?
There are in this world two conditions
That pass with serendipitous haste.
One is time, the other life,
And neither can be replaced.

* de - april 2002