Time passes, you know. I am a waiter. I have waited. I will wait. I am waiting.
People come too.
Every few years someone, quite unexpectedly, appears. Into your life, they add their color, their tone, their pressure, and your path makes a small correction in its course toward heaven. I remember, a long time ago, when I was a teenager, when Duane Allman died. I realized that I had forgotten there on time, and was looked upon as a fortunate one. All the time passes, but his brother never returned.