Reminds me of this poem.

to a young child

Márgarét, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for

the 90's

they will eventually build a time machine. if they havent already. LOL

Frutiger Aero exists, it must 😢

Hey, that's pretty much what my name means.

I don't miss a particular time so much as I miss how I felt then. I would like to feel like that again.

And that time didn't exist either