Recipes for Getting Over It

The world’s trying to blast the volume on its speakers into space around my eyelids, remind me that it’s all too temporary to keep this on a New Year’s Day treadmill path. I try to talk back that this method of comparison, too, won’t last long.
If you looked at the Earth from the galaxy I glimpsed through that expensive telescope, you’d be millions of lightyears away and thus the light you’d be seeing would be millions of years old. I wouldn’t exist. Well, lots of things wouldn’t exist, but if my moments are so supposedly limited, then I’d rather spend them focusing on the things I have a hope of understanding to an extent. I don’t want to live like I’m too busy trying to live to actually live anything out. I commit like crazy. I will be your extra mile: follow me like bullet-riddled stop signs and I might appreciate your audacity enough to acknowledge it. Or maybe not. The bike path ends here; it’s too busy living to stick around with tracks of tires that drop leaf-litter whispers and walk off.
You were once too busy living to pay attention to your shoulders and were shocked to find all those dried tears on them. See, people don’t necessarily need attention; a presence can qualify as quality time. Keep living like you’ll be seen from another galaxy a million years from now and make someone smile- if they survive the trip. Don’t leave it at telling me how; don’t instruction manual treat me, or I will junk-drawer remember you. Give me something worth forgetting over.


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