The riddle

It's winter in Chicago, temperatures dropping as low as -20C just enough to make me see the air I breathe. The lake has frozen yet again, as sheets of ice float and wriggle to a grizzly wind, the mundane march of mankind carries on.

How do you seclude a sequestered life that has galloped faster than time? I once thought about the loneliness of the past. How lost it should be, sometimes heavy some times as easy as the summer breeze. With it floats the scent of life that's caught in the funnel of time and slips to the present.

There is a lull, calmness so serene fostered by a splitting silence, this vision is so witnessed..by me in the past. A moment so familiar and un-tampered. It's a feeling that can only be made traquil because of the scars it carries, a life so young that it can only get old, a space so free that you can only race..this mind so occupied that it can only be emptied. There is nothing to lose at all, you are going to lose anyways.