flipping these tattered old pages. the colors fade from the ravages of the air, and have acquired this smell, the smell of time. the memories come fleeting back, moments from my youth. a carefree time, a time of imagination, thinking of the time that i am now living. escaping into the stories, completely submerged. time would fly by as my imagination raced on. expansion. almost would be nice to be able to record the mind in order to save those ideas. almost review them like you would footage that you just shot. your final edit.