one day you’ll look in the mirror and scrutinize your face for wrinkles;your hair for grays. You’ll think back to the past fifty years of your life with an insatiable lust.
the progression of time is truly a baffling thing.
The older you get, the less time you have, but the quicker time progresses.. isn’t that a little unfair?
When one finally reaches the point where life and the abundance of time with it can finally be appreciated, it goes into hyperdrive.
When I was 7 years old, a year was an seventh of my entire life. Christmas took 12 times as long to reach me. Now, ten years later, Christmas doesn’t even seem a full 12 months away because its a seventeenth of my life. Damn you, time perception.
Sometimes I feel like I’m a little bit obsessed with this whole aging process.
Actually, maybe terrified would be a better word for it.
I’m a 17 year old, soon-to-be high school graduate, anticipating the commencement onwards to the journey of college. However, there is a foreboding, bitter taste to all of this.
but, in the words of a very close past acquaintance, "what can you do?"
“The most important thing I learned on Tralfamdore was that when a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to cry at his funeral. All moments, past, present, and future, always have existed, always will exist.”—Kurt Vonnegut