Like Subatomic Particles.

Time flies. And how weird is it; that you go through it all bumbling and fumbling through the best and the worst? That you’re here, now; skin creating, growing, and regenerating millions of new cells, heart pumping, brain firing synapses, processing memory, controlling emotions?

Then you look down at your hands and laugh because what the fuck, hands. The design is hilarious truth be told, and if we weren’t so used to it, it would be one of those things that you can’t wrap your mind around why or how or what purpose it was meant to serve.

And it’s not unlike life and how time flies.

I look upon the gravelly road I’m on and how far I have come, the people whose shadows intertwined with mine along the way, the bumps and bruises the less than stable road has caused and I’m not quite sure of anything.

Things are changing, so much quicker than I had imagined.

And I have to physically try to pick my jaw off the ground to soak in the astounding fact that I just told myself to unclench because moving along my gruff path is what I always wanted.

It’s odd because people dot about along their path as though all the times of the world have stopped for them. No rush. No schedule. No destination. And I always hated having to be one of them, having brick walls stall me from moving along because I’ve always been in a hurry.

And it makes no sense, none of it. It’s like the particularly handsome older Stonem child said; it’s chance, chaos, coincidence. And that’s what the great thing about the universe. It’s unpredictable.

See? I’m not even making sense. Time has now even refused me the privilege to consolidate my thoughts in a manner befitting of one who wishes to write for a living.

“To call it yearning would be like calling the ocean, water.”
R.A. Nelson

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