Title: I am but a wave.
I am plagued by the idea that life is passing me by.
It is all moving too quickly, and I am too slow…
Looking forward once felt like wading ankle deep in the Pacific.
The frothy tips of waves, at one time great and terrible, gentled by distance and tide, kissing the toes of Me.
A small individual on the edge of everything: depth, death, life, possibility,.
Its expanse was not frightening, but magnetic, beckoning me into a great existence.
Somehow, I was small but pulsing, vibrant and alive by comparison.
My tenacity belonged to the depths, the bubbles on the sand too tender for me.
Now the future feels like a river; rushing, swirling, tumbling around my legs.
Strong, quick, moving past me, happening to me.
Impossible to grasp, slipping through my fingers, which way is ahead and which way is back?
When did it change?
I once felt like forging forward. Embracing the risk, making a path. Not to tame the sea’s wilderness but to find my way through it. Discovering my own unknown, the great new world I was meant to conquer.
Suddenly I am not up for forging.
I feel the water’s gentle invitation to lie back, let it carry me.
I cannot fight the flow of time, I cannot fight the flow of time.
I cannot happen to the world, to my life. My life is happening to me.
Is this simply aging? Or am I going gently?
How to retain the zeal of youth is a secret I am on the precipice of forgetting.
I remember the spring of my life fondly, and find that these days feel like autumn, but I cannot recall the summer?
Did I not touch the sun?
I miss its warmth and wonder if I wasted it.
I once thought I would beat the waves, but I am a wave myself.
At one time great and terrible, gentled by the tides of time.
What is left inside of me? What is left ahead?
Maybe what is beyond me is more important.
I am a tender kiss on the shore of this world.
Impermanent, beautiful, here and then gone.
