New Casablanca

Time passes because we need it to pass. If any one of us could be content to remain exactly and perfectly the same forever, Time would stop like a lake freezing overnight. No human being, even the most sedentary among us, remains precisely identical to who they are. We are ourselves for years, then one day our eyes open again, and we see that it was an illusion--who we are stands miles away holding up one last signal light, as if waiting for a plane to land. And the moment we realize this--that who we are now resides like a statue on the horizon--we begin to call it Who We Were and resist the urge to trek back. This is difficult, because the statues of our past gain mass with every passing second, and the gravity they exert cannot be ignored; you would sooner slip away from Jupiter's bed at dawn. High above, winking in the cold, dark morning sky, serene planes with warmly-lit cabins dangle the possible tomorrows within reach.