Your Life Is Passing
And it takes a lifetime to learn how to live
Your life is passing
And you’re not reading the books.
Some of these have been around the country with you.
But never made it into your hands
This bookshelf that moves you to tears simply by staring at it
Imagine what you’d feel if you read what was on it
What if you took them from your line of sight,
Into your palms
And swallowed them whole?
Your life is passing
And you’re not connecting with your body
Yes–you move it
And run it ragged.
You throw it into bed at night
And peel it back up in the morning
But you aren’t connected
Your life is passing
You eat, but do you feed yourself?
Maybe 1 of every 10 meals you do,
Probably more like 1/20.
Do you choose the food?
Pay attention to it? Taste it?
Do you even remember the shapes of your pasta last night?
The autumn pasta that took over an hour to make?
What color was it?
Were they shaped like pumpkins or spiders?
Or cats and bats?
Did you taste the silky garlic butter on the crunchy bread?
Did you notice anything other than your fullness?
Your life is passing
And you’re missing all the sunsets
Sometimes you glance or peak
You drive into it or away from it
But do you soak in it?
Every gradient of blue that has ever existed fell like a curtain
You watched it like a movie made of ice and indigo
And you sat through the entire thing.
That happens every night.
There was nothing special about tonight,
Other than–you paid attention
Your life is passing and you’re still
At war with your bones
And at odds with your mind.
You still say everything is your fault
You still wonder what is enough? and what is too much?
And you’ll do absolutely everything other than slow down
Every hour you think
“I could’ve done more, I could’ve done better, I chose the wrong thing”
Your life is passing and you’re still overly existential about things like dishes and laundry
Your life is passing and you want to have more lunch dates with Grandpa
Your life is passing
And you are surrounded by natural wonders
But you go to work and go home
And you never make it
To the sea glass stained lakes or the tall trees or the sandy spaces
Your life is passing and you’re still unbelievably unaware
Of how to be better with money and everything about it
Your life is passing—31 years of it have passed.
And you still don’t trust yourself?
Not even a little?
Your life is passing, and you still make time for poetry
Your life is passing and you are wearing
All the bruises and acne and sunkissed skin remarkably
Your life is passing and you have collided
With so many other lives
And seen so much through them
And meant so much to them.
Your life is passing and you’ve seen parts of the world
That some people only dream about.
Your life is passing, yet you’ve made time
To smile at every single dog you’ve ever met
31 years have passed, and you’ve still never tired of kissing.
Not even for a moment.
Your life is passing and you are outgrowing absolutely everything
And it feels terrifying until it feels so fucking good to move on.
Your life is passing so fast and so full
That you can’t even count all the lives you’ve lived
Your life is passing,
Exactly like it’s supposed to
A good life is flying before your eyes.
