one day I found myself hanging
from the edge of a grandfather clock
with nothing but time on my hands.
and when you've got that much time
you really start to think.
I wondered if memories attached themselves
to old things,
because they're part of the past.
and if we threw those old things out,
we would probably forget
most of the memories that went with them.
then I realized that people are old things.
we were new once,
when nobody had memories of us,
and we didn't quite know
the concept of time.
but as we cling to the grandfather clock
and the hands fall down,
we grow older with each toll of the
midnight bell.
and when people are tired of their old things
they want new ones.
new things that haven't been
taught the hours and don't
know what it's like to hold on to
the time they've been given,
and I think that's the appeal we get
with throwing out old things.
we get to break the new things in
and get a chance to make
memories without making
mistakes that can't be erased until
they're ready to be thrown out.
I think I'm hanging on the edge of this
grandfather clock
because its hands are tied to my own
with the last bit of connections
I have with the old people in my life.
and I'm waiting for everyone to sever
their ties with me
so I can make the decision to fall out
and be forgotten with other old things
or to grab onto the strands of
new things that will replace me
with newer things.
maybe I'm just going crazy because
I've had a lot of time on my hands.
a.d.