I'm seeing important memories fade with calendar pages so im gripping onto the future as if it were my past. I'm okay with appreciating life like that.
I look back (which is forward for realists) to see that life leaves a wake. An identity - perhaps just fragments of a wave and the rippled reflection of a face I've come to call my own. The face that relentlessly demands more from the soul behind my eyes. The face that always seems so dissapointed with the number of hours in a day and days in a year -
the growing to do list - or options for life -
life as it could be - life as it should be - life as it is with me.
My life lingers in the tug-of-war between infinate dreams - and in the opposing force of reality (which is really just some kind of gravity)
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