Our lives are very short. I don't want to get too pie-in-the-sky here but our lives are very short. Recently I was talking with my little sister and she was saying that she's soon to turn forty. My kid sister will soon turn forty. It was a big enough deal when I hit forty, but shouldn't my baby sister still be, like, sixteen? Like, forever?
I remember lying on the grass in the park on sunny summer afternoons when I was a kid, lying in the shade and staring up at the fluffy white clouds with a friend and describing what we saw there, telling stories about monsters and dragons floating above us, cottony white within that magnificent azure expanse. We felt like those afternoons would last forever. Each day was a year.
And now we are much older, and sometimes it feels like each year is merely a day.