The "curse of the second hand" is mentioned in the poem on my blog header.
Funny, I was going to write about the one who has hope being able to look back at memories and see them truly. However, as I typed "curse," the word "cures" came out instead.
Amazing, our finiteness. How time "cures" us, us wee folk, we who twist fairy tales...drink the unicorn's blood and live forever...be bitten by a vampire and do the same. We beg more of time, use less of it. (ha, to concoct these very tales)
hm, I do not know whether it is time or our dull memories that cure. Perhaps next time we wish to complain about our poor memory, we will instead praise God from whom all blessings flow.
