I may have a problem with how things have a finality of sorts. Knowing me (and I know me), deadlines are not my strongest suit.
Similar to when a really good video game ends and there's nothing to do but to relive the best parts. Like with most things, I would write a sequel in my head, hoping it could turn into something I could hold on to.
I live each day thinking it could go on and on and on. I don't say goodbyes, I say later. I sometimes think my head can't comprehend if and when someone leaves for good. I put them in a little box I labeled "for another lifetime."
If I could extend the hours of each day, I would. I don't ever want to imagine a day in time when everything would be a far cry from what I came to know and love. It gives me panic attacks every time the thought would cross my mind.
I guess I could blame whatever bizarre childhood I had for this unrealistic approach in life, but I won't. I think this is just me not accepting how things are supposed to be - harsh, real, finite.
I put this into writing because, again, I want to somehow want it to make sense. In my head, everything's all jumbled up; my thoughts floating and clashing.
For Another Lifetime