Life goes on, before you realize, it is well past you, like the bus you could not catch while waiting in the bus stop you stood all your life. It’s the sheer intensity and the velocity of the things that I seem to miss. It is like a movie with so much squeezed into every frame that it becomes infinitely superior to and lies there while the audience only collect those bits that are in their reach. Somehow, I feel left out of the circle of preoccupation. I stand transfixed at the propensity of life’s amazing ability to float around, in air; in every heaved sigh, in every hair stalk I brush with my hand, in every electron that oscillated perpetually. While I stand there, the activity around me seems to push itself ahead with the preset momentum, like a clock that unwinds in its spring. The spring of my life unwinds in interminable intervals, I control the unwinding energy by pausing it for while here and there. Perhaps it is the heat, or the friction , for every time I pause the spring’s