8th was PG's 22nd Birthday. And my dad's birthday.
10th was the day Abel Sylvester died.
12th December this year is 'special' - 12.12.12.
21st is hailed as the last by many.
In midst of all that, I can only feel life passing by. It's a continuous happening, something we all know; but in the tiny moments of countless days, it doesn't register.
Then you are posed with a date such as today's and you know it's not happening for another century, the uniqueness of the 3 columns.
And that's what does it...
Foolishness.
Why does it take big, stupid things for us to realize small, important ones?
The coming Christmas and New Year looms upon me like storm clouds. what would I do with myself, so far away from home and family?
And in all the uncertainties that I let myself wallow, why does the weight of it all not push me to try harder, be better?
Maybe this is how people run their lives into ruin. Or maybe this is just the way life is run, in general by everyone. This must be the making of our future dialogue as 80 year olds, curled up on a couch, wrinkled hands twisting around each other in an attempt to recirculate blood.
"Life just passes you by. How fast the years have gone...I used to know a time when..."
Maybe we all deserve a shot at that kind of timeless sorrow, as much as we deserve a chance at happy endings.
10th was the day Abel Sylvester died.
12th December this year is 'special' - 12.12.12.
21st is hailed as the last by many.
In midst of all that, I can only feel life passing by. It's a continuous happening, something we all know; but in the tiny moments of countless days, it doesn't register.
Then you are posed with a date such as today's and you know it's not happening for another century, the uniqueness of the 3 columns.
And that's what does it...
Foolishness.
Why does it take big, stupid things for us to realize small, important ones?
The coming Christmas and New Year looms upon me like storm clouds. what would I do with myself, so far away from home and family?
And in all the uncertainties that I let myself wallow, why does the weight of it all not push me to try harder, be better?
Maybe this is how people run their lives into ruin. Or maybe this is just the way life is run, in general by everyone. This must be the making of our future dialogue as 80 year olds, curled up on a couch, wrinkled hands twisting around each other in an attempt to recirculate blood.
"Life just passes you by. How fast the years have gone...I used to know a time when..."
Maybe we all deserve a shot at that kind of timeless sorrow, as much as we deserve a chance at happy endings.
