At retirement, switching from "I must" to "I want" leaves me puzzled and uneasy.
The flesh of past lovers looks both familiar and strange.
Conscious thought is the tidying up at the end.
The extravagance of intellect outstrips the extravagance of desire.
Only death rescues us from dying.
Looking backward at what has been lost, I feel sad, then indifferent, and at last relieved.