“And somehow you know this, deep down. You know it is futile.”
This humility she speaks of, why can’t I find it quite often with beautiful people? They are all either infected by ego or silence. Either you never hear what their lovely souls think or feel, or you hear too much noise from them.
At 7:23am today I will have been on this earth for exactly 42 years.
December 8th 1978 seems a long time ago. And no time at all.
Time is a funny thing that way.
Rushing towards you even as it is rolling on by.
Birthdays are a funny thing, too. They always make me feel reflective but often leave me with nothing of any substance or wisdom to say. Birthdays are more listening than speaking, perhaps.
Just another day in a string of days and nights spent searching.
And I guess forty-two isn’t monumental in any certain sense. Each and every life is different, follows its own pattern, trajectory, path, fabric, and star.
All my life I have been a poet at my core. Everything I write, create, imagine, dream about is, at its heart, in its soul, poetry.
It can be so excruciating to wander the planet with this…
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