I often admire the way you live in each moment. Your choice not to look into the future, not to wish for things to come, has always impressed me.
You are the ultimate master of slowing the fuck down.
I repeat that phrase to myself often,
slowthefuckdown slowthefuckdown slowthefuckdown
My mind rushes forward to next week/month/year. I rush to a new city, a better job, babies, growing old; in the same way I rushed to graduation and alcohol and boys.
I was born two weeks late—I’m just making up for lost time.
You remind me that now is all that matters and I remind you that we could die tomorrow. I am content with the now.
I don’t believe I could love this deep and not hope for more.
This will always be my downfall: I never know when it is enough. I am impatient to know how it will all end. I want to know everything.
You are okay with not knowing it all. Anything could happen; there is no point in hoping.
I wrap your lack of hope around me as I fall asleep. We are never promised tomorrow.