My days are split into two modes: disorder and heaven. Both remain a mystery I wrestle to understand. Each day is spent in battle with what I’m told is the proper way to live.
I guess we’re exactly where we need to be: Collecting debt, patrolling property, pushing produce, hitting publish — somehow still moving; progressing.
Still, she haunts me, even now as I write this.
A ghost I’m happy to see.
Time had been kind to her, and the opposite to me. She was, without a doubt, in her prime.
I, on the other hand…
Time is forever moving, with or without us. Is it passing you by or are you moving with it?