Years had passed
The man had not realized that years had passed. Too many of them to count.
But counting he did. Not the years, gone. But scenes hidden from his memory, episodes frozen, people frozen, thirty or forty years ago.
For him, they will, always, be like they were then.
He does acknowledge the passing time, but he also acknowledge that time has frozen, a construct having been made.
Perhaps he is afraid of meeting his own past, the actions he did, or not.
A life is behind him.
A life is, also, open.
Will he judged for what is supposed to have achieved?
Or for what he aspire to achieve?