How the days rush beneath your calloused hands, they wax and wane to no end and you are powerless to stop their passing. And yet, would you stop them if you could? Is it not like damming the river, like trying to hold the spring flood? One cannot step in the same river twice, but all that means is what a delight it is to step in as many rivers as you simply ever can. You spread your fingers and watch the clear water trickle over your fingers.
An early morning run, Red Hook is empty save for the dog walkers in Valentino Park. You flail along the water, your muscles still sleeping and your head elsewhere. Brooklyn rises in spring blooms, your life rises in colorful petals and deep breaths in your lungs the kind that lift you off the ground.
Life is finite, you have but this one.
You do what you will with it, of course.
But it seems
wisest just to live it, after all.
There may come a day, when you won't regret it, and that day is worth all the wait.
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