Lately, I have acknowledged my immense fear of a looming death. Death comes quickly and quietly, and death is always there. I know I am a paranoid creature (we are all paranoid creatures), but I feel as if I am growing ill. Or perhaps merely growing old—“you’re spending all your nights growing old in your bed.”
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I have been observing. The world is not as I used to perceive it to be. I cannot believe I was convinced I knew everything at age 18. Only one year passes and my surroundings and ideals appear to be completely altered. Ignorance is bliss and there is nothing like a nostalgic high school morning…living in a daydream…smoking marijuana and watching the sun rise over the ocean…catching the public bus and floating through the red and white hallways…laughing at simplicity…oh, such beauty in not knowing! Sneaking off campus in the back of Lauren’s jeep…singing along to the pop-punk song on the radio…driving fast…drinking fast…loving fast. These moments play in my mind like old snapshots, no possibility for legitimate recreation. Youth wasted on white, sandy eternity, through moon and wind and water.
***
Here is a very short poem:
A debatable love,
an indecipherable intensity,
entranced by perplexity,
adorable and angsty,
harmlessly angry…
somebody loves you baby.
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