This weekend, Kaleb and I watched a movie wherein death was involved. I hated it, because I got way too emotionally invested in the movie. It ended and we turned the lights on. I was still sobbing into Kaleb's chest that I don't want cancer and I don't want to die. He promised me we would live a long life together, and I cried some more.
Sometimes I worry that the beauty and peace in life will never be enough, and I will drown in luke warm water. Sometimes I am paralyzed with fear of the fragile human state, and the call of death.
I'm just barely dipping my toes into the water, wondering, suspicious, and I'm clutching on to my towel.
A little girl runs past me and jumps in, bragging to me that she didn't even bring a towel.
I'm kind of mad at her, because even though she thinks she's cool now I know she'll be freezing cold later. When the storm of growing up so fast rips on past her, and she is shivering at the water's edge, it's her fault.
I'm relaxing on the sunny curb, watching the parade go by with stained red lips. Then all in a flash of time it's my duty to organize the parade. I'm frantically collaborating without a clue, and out of the corner of my eye I see myself young, relaxing on the sunny curb, watching. A tiny little critic.
I rely heavily on my childhood these days. I keep looking back to it, knowing I left something there that I want now. It's kind of twisted, like a grown adult hanging on a child's leg, begging for candy. It could be something as simple as a wish to be more creative and carefree, or it could be so much more than that. I rely heavily on my elderly years as well, because when I see myself there I'll know that nothing ever killed me from now until then.
I have to wonder, is life really chronological? Or is it just our physical bodies atop the earth that spins at 700 and something miles per hour, and we ride helplessly along in the backseat, just like our parents drove us to school.
My kids are growing up so fast, and they are yet to be conceived.