3

3 years.

3 years of what?

3 years of something.

3 years of knowing less and less than I did the previous 3 years

Although aging seems to be objectively speaking undeniable

But it’s all a blur. A meandering, mercurial blur.

Or maybe millions and millions of micromoments of blur that somehow accumulated to form 3 years.

And what have I to show for it?

A new driver’s license in a new state I cannot imaging living in.

3 years of living in such a state.

I’m trying to think of all of things that I could have made happen in 3 years,  but chose not to, even when they could have been in my self-interest.

3 years of living in a self I am really not interested in knowing.

3 years of time I could have spent with you instead.

but how would you ever know that?

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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