Eves

All week like a long preparation for the day that arrives tomorrow. All year, perhaps. I was always a step ahead in expecting disaster, age, death. One day I will lay in my grave, eyes open, heart beating, and tell my grand-children that being prepared is just good common sense. My entire youth was spent preparing for old age, and subsequently always feeling too late for the experiences of my time.

Perhaps then, 30 is not the time when it is all over. Perhaps, this is the time when my age catches up with my anxiety.

Perhaps now is when I say fuck it, and live.