I can’t quantify a year.

Or ten.

I can’t look back and say
…this moment was best.

Because every second that my
feet find their way to the cold
hardwood floor each morning
is a second I want to breathe in,
like molecules full of energy
bursting the moment they hit
my lungs with the words

thank you.

Ten years vanished, and lingered.
Twenty years has settled into my
skin, tattooing me with memories
of people and places I am unable
to ever shake away.

That’s what twenty years of
grown up memories bring.
The understanding that time
doesn’t change how you feel, only
allows you to live with the bitter
sweet tonic of life. Caroused.

I could think of my daughter.
My husband.
The houses we bought and sold.
The art I created, and didn’t create.
The career flubs and successes.
The new friends I’ve embraced
and the ones I’ve let go.

But, all of life is is letting go.
That’s the beauty.

Letting go of time, as it funnels
itself quicker and more furiously
through the narrow escape tunnel
of life.

Always a slippery thief.

What I will hold onto most,
is the breathing.
The steady commonplace of it.
The monotony of something
I can’t control, but desperately require.
The life it brings to these
fingertips as they write.

The life it brings to the dark
corners of this house.


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