Diminishing returns

It just happens. Only you realize it later. You're taller then, and not as fresh. Your eyes have learned to expect less, and things get mingled with everything else. Ideas run into other ideas and become new ideas, but none lead to grace. Each road taken leads back eventually to the middle. And looking back you see a man, a grain of sand, a leaf even. And that's your life. What would you have done differently with it?