At Both Ends, To The Middle

I look at the stars along the water from that place that's "nowhere,” where you can see the unveiled faintest fibers of the night tapestry of the sky.

They move because you move.

At 17, your universe expands - and the memories you have are set apart among only a few.

They can breathe and radiate.

The present happens, then is enshrined. They become holier and more mythical as time passes.

You are aware you are growing.

Move forward ...

"Future is as future does."

They multiply.

"This reminds of me of this. But, no, it's still new."

"This memory is unlike ...no, it is like everything I have seen."

Your purest memories – the ones you feel more than remember - are borne only from places unexplored.

You remember them only so far as you can feel them in their present.

The intricately patterned poisonous snake. The billowing steam of locker room shower. Lost in the parking lot. The day you remember surrendering your most-precious thing to the world.

A million musical notes coalescing.

Tonight the relics are overwhelming me.

And the time and space for them is compressing.

Unfortunately, being a human being, I am unable to be anything but human.

I can understand only as this curious collection of particles

Finiteness.

I’ve lost traction.

Everything is onward flowing forward.

There's just now less to drift toward - and only so much newness left - a priceless blessing.