Par

Your father walks around the setting sun with a golf club, practicing putts for a game he now will never conquer. We have reached that age now where everything can happen quickly, he says, and wonders if it is too late to learn how to pay the bills. Your mother remembers her ignorance to the passing of those who bore her, and cries at all the things she never could tell them. You wonder what you will regret when they go, but it is always too heavy to do anything about it before it is too late. 

Is that what life is?

Yet when he asks you about enthusiasm, you find that it pours out of your open chest, when he asks you about futures you find that you see one. The shifts are minute until they are monumental.

You decide that if the sun will keep rising,
after everything it's been through,

so will you.