There are more thoughts in my head than I have time to think about. To write out. To acknowledge. To make matter.
I’m stuck in my own world, in my own head, pondering. Feeling. Watching. Hoping.
Caught in this moment. This brief moment. Of all time. Of all existence.
My baby’s growing. I’m getting older. Years will pass. What is modern becomes what is outdated.
Everyone who came before me: I will soon be like you.
Everyone who comes after me: You will soon be like me.