What is there to even say about one day? About one part of a collective experience? Sometimes I feel they go so quick and I’ve barely even begun. There’s thresholds we pass every day and there are things that remain constant like time ever flowing but goodness how I feel so caught up in it.
It’s not the end of the world. Whenever you stop to think about time I suppose you’re taking a bit of it for yourself. In another sense time also grants us context to our memories. It isn’t always important that they’re time stamped, but with memories we at least know they happened before now. There’s something reassuring in the permanence of before now. Everything happened before now and I suppose everything will continue to have happened before now.
Time continues on and you’ve spent a little bit of it reading this journal entry and even if you’re not much older you have to consider that neither is the universe. Neither is the constant growing sense of consciousness we’re all swimming in every day.
There was a time where everything I owned was older than my daughter and here we are now three years later. It stops for nothing. And I wouldn’t change that for fear of being held in place. So even if I wish to hold those memories in my palm, and even when they run fluid through my fingers, I’ll know that they are now part of something bigger and fuller than I could comprehend. Tomorrow is something and today is. Or maybe it’s all just yesterday by another name.