I'm doing a fifty-sentence table for a LiveJournal community, and one of them spun off into this slightly random and (in my opinion) bizarre little drabbley thing. PGF insisted (glares) that I put it up anyhow because it is (quote) "poetic." So here it is. (stops rambling nervously now)
A learning experience, Stamford had warned – and it certainly was.
One learned to live peaceably with Memory, and the other slightly less peaceably with a companion.
One learned not to jump at gunshots, and the other that there was no longer reason to fear them.
One learned to enjoy opera; the other, to enjoy it more with a friend.
One learned to accelerate mentally, and the other to slow physically.
One learned to love again, and the other how to support and protect what he did not fully comprehend.
One learned a painful lesson about gullibility; the other, that he could face death peacefully now.
One learned to channel grief by writing, and the other to channel homesickness by reading.
One learned a deeper definition of heartache, and the other how much more painful the emotion was when accented by three years of guilt.
One learned that age was slowing his reflexes; the other, that grief would make him capable of murder.
One learned to tolerate bees, and the other to endure motor-cars.
One learned that his health would not allow returning to post-War practice; the other, that he would not permit his friend to die of a heart-attack after surviving all he had.
And they both learned that Time was a precious gift, and to treasure it like never before.