Film

I read my own blog and forget I am watching myself. My eyes glaze as memories play like a movie skipping through my mind. Without these words or pictures to prod my remembrance the stories are thin, and evaporate one droplet at a time. I console myself with promises to think only of the future. How easily one forgets the past once lay before us, and time does not exist.

A summer that is done seems to be yet to happen, should I still save this dress for a midsummer dream? Spring has sprung without ever ending, I vaguely remember a chilly fall day, and strain to recall smiling my way through the social season.

Clarity returns like a burst of actuality. Happiness blooms in spite of oncoming frost. How much was lost? You cannot miss what was never to be. You should not miss what you only expected. Expectations are meant to disappoint.

Now comes the poison that promises to extend life. Are promises meant to be broken? Practitioners smile and escape out the back door, out of practice and devoid of care. No way to explain that what people expect is not as tragic as they imagine and nowhere near as heartbreaking as one could suppose. The pain lies not in the nerves but in the heart when you wonder who will comb your daughter's hair. The pain cuts ever deeper as you wonder if your boy will have need for another mother to hold his hand as he dreams the same dream.

Days lie in waste when you consider their rarity, toil seems ridiculously uncouth in a life with such altered prospects. Nothing to conjecture but the end of time itself, no need to plan for a life not to be lived, and not possible to prepare for what I will not be here to oversee. Rueful smiles, unsolicited clemency, smothering hugs and empty offers of empathy haunt my days. I inspire nothing but take credit for everything, my accomplishments are mundane yet solicit high praise. I rush through the prosaic, seeking out the moments of purity, completely aware I only march closer to the ending credits. As they roll I will regret nothing, for it will be too late to suppose and too early to accept their finality. Life will live itself and require nothing of just one, there wont even be a blink of an eye.