I stand waiting and watching beyond the open door. The wind brushes past me, catching at my hair, my clothes.

"Why do you stand here? What are you looking for?"

"I am looking for a way to find what I once had. Tell me, wind, how to find it..."

"You cannot go back," replied the wind's ever-changing voice. "Time does not work in such a way with men."

"No, do not tell me such things," the tears and searing pain betraying themselves in my voice, yet knowing the wind spoke truly. I cannot go back. The passage of Time necessarily brings change, but through the will somethings are able to remain. Turning, I gaze once more through the doorway, remembering wondering if my will is strong enough.