Casanova famously replied to a woman who asked him what he sought, ‘A moment that lasts a lifetime.’
Although she flew past him she left an impression, an imprint, like no other. When he was writing his memoirs in old age, impoverished financially but rich in memories, she blazed back into life for him again, untarnished, forever young and forever his.
There’s an instinct to possess, and it’s a hard lesson to finally understand that nobody can possess anything, least of all another human being.
Casanova grasped that the most we can have is fleeting moments that encapsulate transient joys and preserve them in memory like flies in amber, to be contemplated and cherished later, when everything has changed.
There are certain people I would love to gobble up, possess, kiss and love to pieces while there’s still time. But time itself is the problem. These people have changed, though parts of them are scattered across the years like fragments of meteorites that burned up in our atmosphere, and some of those fragments persist and continue to glow incandescently.
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