I haven't written any love letters to the dead in a long time, but a leap day is a special kind of day. A calender-ic freak that appeals to me past all the hard won layers of sloth and self aggrandizement. This is a milestone. A marker on the merciless march to oblivion.
All I want from this life is to make something that will live beyond me. It's a basic, base and infinitely hard/sad goal. How many layers of life have come and gone before us? More lives than we can fathom. More forgotten days than could ever really exist. We live in the ash heap of history.
E2, or my perception of what it is, makes me dream of past glories. It's a frame of reference that belonged to the generation before me on here, and likely will to the ones past me. We all time travel in our little bubbles till we pop.
Momento Mori, Omnium Vanitas.
My brother got a kitten in 1997. I met my wife in 1997. Today, that cat is at a veterinarian, possibly at the end of his life. He is old, from a bodily perspective. He might live, he might fade into memory, but I stand impotent against the march of time. My brother's heart is near broken, but all the pain we can muster doesn't stop the seconds.
Is this a Mausoleum? Only to my old thoughts. It's also a playground to the young. Enjoy these tempestuous shores that once broke us. The bucolic vistas of a now tamed frontier launched a million seeds into the unknown.
Who knows what beasts may return?