john | March 27, 2021, 7:10 a.m.

What can I say about it, for I do not know it yet. If I did I would not ponder it, I would recall it.  But how can I recall the future.  It's impossible, but not improbable.  Yet I long for it, like a child wishing to grow old.  It is foolish of my age to play a role in such a futile thing.

The feeling is brutally torn by the duality of the reality that tomorrow brings.  It brings the future, but makes the present the past.  That brings joy and sadness, and that is why it tears.  The past is no longer with us, it is what I wish I could recall of the future.

But the future makes the present the past.  It hurts because of what it lost, and that is hope.  For the present is always full of it, I suppose the future is too.  But the past, the past if full of memory.

Memory is a thing of value.  It allows the present to be more comfortable, and gives hope to the future.  Just as you are lost reading this, I am lost writing it.  It's simple though, that which I do not understand I struggle to express simply.

Maybe tomorrow I'll grasp it just a bit more.

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