I remembered that I was alive.
and then lost all of the petty pieces.
and nobody recognized this new face.
People sometimes ask me what I think of the future. It’s a variable; I worry that someday the people I care about will desert me, which I know eventually they will. I’m afraid this fear at times defines me. I yearn for those I care about most to feel the same for me even if it is not possible for them to do so. I want to apologize for my every wrong doing unto them. I fear that one day near the close I’ll look back at my days disappointed in myself for never being bold or intelligent enough to accomplish for what I find myself clutching- open air. But unlike variables in math, we never figure out what the future holds. For we are always living right now. The future never comes with the morning. Because the days just break, collapsing into a thousand shards. They collide with tomorrow, and turn gray with the past. The here and now you never forget because you always find yourself living it. I can’t see much into my future because it seems impossible that it can come. I have a bit of trouble perceiving; maybe I should fear my own short-sightedness. Most of the time I feel like I slip through life half awake, everything I love dispersing before I have the chance to even admire it. The pain of wounds vanishing before they sink in. I think I don’t fear specific things about the future, maybe more of the prospect that I don’t know what’s coming.|
My life is all based on what I do today, the chances I’ll trip upon. Which ones I miss when my eyes are closed or because I look ahead instead of at my feet. At least I know that when I clutch air what I’m holding still makes me breathe.
I am more than these words