Conundrum

Looking at some thirty-year-old slides. Was that me, was that you? How many successions of now, how many tides, how many sunrises, rainy and sunny days must be reversed for me to crawl back into that disease and ache free body again. And I must be careful not to fall into the illusion that the person, lofty though his intentions may have been, that started this sonnet is the same person that is hoping to glean some mean hope of meaning from original intention. Unless you live outside of time and connect you cannot hope to complete what you project.