one hundred thirty seven

It’s too hot to be alive.

Time is coming to a close and i must leave life behind, leave me behind, and meet the new me who’ll emerge from the shell of college to vagabond on.

I don’t feel the wear of time. Sometimes i don’t think time exists. It’s a dimension of existence, or so i’m told, a measurement, but it’s not like the other ones. The past doesn’t exist and the future was already dreamt. Now is what matters and now is already the dreams of yesterday and yesterday is already a broken memory, an instant that barely flickered long enough to hold it in your palm.

Some cultures think that time is a circle and others think it’s a line, but i don’t think it’s either. A circle is more correct than a line, of course, because time was never meant to be linear. Time doesn’t go or disappear. It just is. Time. Time. Time.

No need to fight.

It’s always all right.