The Unrepeatable Feeling of Alive
Nothing, absolutely nothing you can do can make something new. You can polish it, you can buff it, you can paint it, you can scrape it, you can hold it at arm's length, you can hug it. But you can't make it new again.
When you forget it's old there is a chance. When you forget you're forgetting there is a chance. When you are not looking for the chance there is a chance.
Something old is new again when you trip over it in the dark. Something old is new again when you were looking for something else. Something old is new again when you never got used to it.
Every drip of a faucet — even the first — can be old or new. If it annoys it is old. If it pounds and pounds it is old. If it crashes just before it splashes it is old. If it has a fresh voice it is new, but if you wait for it, it will never arrive.
If a bird chirps while it's not yet a bird, it is new. If you hear a train whistle before it becomes a train whistle it is new. If you taste a note you expected to hear it is new.
When something is new, all the time in the universe can fall into it.