tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029878056983066235.post3787453953703188489..comments2024-01-28T11:53:59.145-08:00Comments on l'amour fou: Tom Becketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08956557701199101102noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029878056983066235.post-47131587658031254182012-09-04T23:53:27.809-07:002012-09-04T23:53:27.809-07:00i recall a piece, tom, you'd written a few yea...i recall a piece, tom, you'd written a few years ago. a little anecdote that has stayed with me. you wrote about a coworker that you did not know very well but saw often. there was one afternoon you encountered this man in, i believe, the cafeteria by himself eating quietly and alive. a short time later he was dead.<br /><br />i think of that because i am getting older too. everyone is of course. yet i am keenly aware that we have just a limited amount of time here. one moment we are eating lunch, the next moment we are simply nonexistent. <br /><br />which might sound like a melancholy thought. it isn't. rather that knowledge of time feels me with joy. i know i am here for a spell, and then that's it. death is the mother of beauty. i am happy to be alive and breathing, sharing, loving, reading, and writing. is that enough? no. but it is far more than i can ever ask for. richard lopezhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02331807433806381883noreply@blogger.com