Life is sand slipping through your fingers, grating your knuckles, shifting against your palm, raining fine grain to the ground, to your feet, where you step on it, pay it no matter, let it slip into the nooks and crannies of what becomes yesterday and yesterday’s yesterday. The weight of it is nothing and everything.
There is the infinite dark that will come anyway, and all the days between then and now, and wondering how to fill those hours and never doing them justice. Just waiting. Trying to notice. Trying to feel it. Slipping. Grasp it. Let it fall. It all falls anyway.
life with interest 