And the week before.
And last decade.
And the decade before.
This is what has been known since the moment I could correctly pronounce "dog,"
and for a few of the "overachievers" it was the word "cat."
And every year since I've learned that the words become more complex,
and tongue tripping until your spilling them, spitting them out of your mouth and onto the paper or onto the keyboard or onto the field,
And after a while you can't seem to remember how you could have ever possibly struggled with "dog" or "cat" or "over achiever".
But I hear that's a natural way to feel,
Because after all these years everything has grown from nothing to something and it's easier to sum up the most important things with vague references,
Because if you put a name on something it may be written down, and if it's written down then someone could come along and erase it.
So no, I'm not trying to belittle the real reasons for why I am existing at this exact moment.
I just want to give credit to the soft droning of familiar voices, and the few scattered puns that have transformed into full stand up routines.
And the stumbling upon common ground.
That links people who thought they only shared the single quality of being a being.
The slow realization that the breeze that is giving you goose bumps is coming from an open window, as a short summer ends a long winter.
And most significant, the far off sense of loss that enshrouds our core as we stand on the very spot that memories once were made, or so I've been told.
Even though I know that someday I could offer the world more, or I could offer a little less so someone else could offer a little more, maybe I want to be wasteful for once.
And sometimes as I stare out the panes of glass that surround me,
I'll be wondering if I'll ever get out,
Then two milliseconds later I'm praying that they are thick enough.
Thick enough to keep the rest of the world from getting in.
