The days keep passing me by
Same day, different shit. But when you look at the little picture, it really isn't.
Tomorrow is the only tomorrow in my life. At this moment, I will be twenty six years, six months, seven days,
thirteen hours, six minutes and forty three seconds, forty four seconds, forty five seconds... old. It took me thirty three seconds to write that; thirty three seconds I'll never be in again. That half of a minute is a unique half minute in the history of my life. Every second that ticks by, is one second more I've experienced, one second less to see, one second passed into a memory I'll probably never bother to relive or acknowledge. We mostly forget the half minutes, the eight hours, and forty days that breeze through our twenty, thirty, eighty years. The older we get, the faster time runs by. The years seem shorter, because they are shorter relative to the number of years you've piled up and up and up. When you are five, a year is one fifth of your lifetime and seems like the most important time of your life because so much happens in such vivid veracity that your mind might as well melt at the thought of trying to recall it all. It's new and thrilling, and you share every exciting event in generous detail with whomever will listen. When you are twenty six, it is only one twenty sixth of your life and you file most of it all under: unimportant. Dinner is dinner and it doesn't matter who you saw or what you did because it didn't feel new and it probably wasn't. It really doesn't matter how the year went by as long as it went by without a hitch. Memories are fuzzier, and more subjective, and your heart definitely doesn't palpitate at the idea of starting a new project unless you are going to be making some serious cash. The days run on into nights like a fragment of a sentence with no comma to breathe or think or be until you die and see that sweet period.
Relief. A breath, finally.
But maybe, perhaps, perchance, you could... I could... live the little picture, bigger. Tomorrow is the only tomorrow in my life. The meals I have, even if they're cooked in the same way with the same ingredients will be chemically different. I shall chew my food thoroughly and will remember to taste it before swallowing. My face will look different to me and to others because I will be twenty six years, six months, and eight days old. I will be grateful for the deepening lines in my cheeks that settle when I smile. I will have different thoughts and ways of thinking and will meditate on them. I will take my steps a little differently than I did today, than I did yesterday, than I did the day before that, and that, and that... tomorrow I resolve to see the same people differently and I will honor their presence in my life.
Tomorrow, I resolve to see my same self differently and be gracious for the years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds I have and have had and will have until I reach that
period.
Tomorrow is the only tomorrow in my life. At this moment, I will be twenty six years, six months, seven days,
thirteen hours, six minutes and forty three seconds, forty four seconds, forty five seconds... old. It took me thirty three seconds to write that; thirty three seconds I'll never be in again. That half of a minute is a unique half minute in the history of my life. Every second that ticks by, is one second more I've experienced, one second less to see, one second passed into a memory I'll probably never bother to relive or acknowledge. We mostly forget the half minutes, the eight hours, and forty days that breeze through our twenty, thirty, eighty years. The older we get, the faster time runs by. The years seem shorter, because they are shorter relative to the number of years you've piled up and up and up. When you are five, a year is one fifth of your lifetime and seems like the most important time of your life because so much happens in such vivid veracity that your mind might as well melt at the thought of trying to recall it all. It's new and thrilling, and you share every exciting event in generous detail with whomever will listen. When you are twenty six, it is only one twenty sixth of your life and you file most of it all under: unimportant. Dinner is dinner and it doesn't matter who you saw or what you did because it didn't feel new and it probably wasn't. It really doesn't matter how the year went by as long as it went by without a hitch. Memories are fuzzier, and more subjective, and your heart definitely doesn't palpitate at the idea of starting a new project unless you are going to be making some serious cash. The days run on into nights like a fragment of a sentence with no comma to breathe or think or be until you die and see that sweet period.
Relief. A breath, finally.
But maybe, perhaps, perchance, you could... I could... live the little picture, bigger. Tomorrow is the only tomorrow in my life. The meals I have, even if they're cooked in the same way with the same ingredients will be chemically different. I shall chew my food thoroughly and will remember to taste it before swallowing. My face will look different to me and to others because I will be twenty six years, six months, and eight days old. I will be grateful for the deepening lines in my cheeks that settle when I smile. I will have different thoughts and ways of thinking and will meditate on them. I will take my steps a little differently than I did today, than I did yesterday, than I did the day before that, and that, and that... tomorrow I resolve to see the same people differently and I will honor their presence in my life.
Tomorrow, I resolve to see my same self differently and be gracious for the years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds I have and have had and will have until I reach that
period.