Why did the tears stream down my face? Was it the gunshot that took the young boy's life away? Or the pain of never knowing what he will amount to? The thought of life brought this window pain, the pathway to my soul opened up like pores and the pain dripped down the side of my face.
Wise men often say we should look to the future because the past is history; the concept of time is so perplexing, it flows in perpetuity, it heals all the open sores with the promise of more injuries on the horizon. It is not a promise, more like an inevitability. The man living on Earth will experience the cold hand of defeat in his life and he either stays down and turns to dust or rise from the dirt to try again.
I think frequently about the future and its bleakness is hurtful, my mind's eye struggles to comprehend and the talked up "endless possibilities" crash at the nadir. The future is an abstract, it lies in the middle of possible and improbable. It is a time in existence that is inevitable yet in its inevitability lies the promise of being or not being. Optimist talk about the future in glowing terms, they cling on to the positives and gleefully expect the future. I have no such luxury.
In between Rem sleep and consciousness my mind wandered, a conversation with an old fling had me reminiscing. The sound of her voice brought back quaint memories of the times we had together, then it continued to wander even deeper. I remembered the good tines in college and how much fun it was.
The emotions spread like ripples in a body of water, they dropped one at a time until I stream flowed down the side of my face. The memory of what once was but is not anymore, the friends and opportunities lost and missed respectively, the games we played and everything in between, I missed those days. The past is gone and the future beckons, it's bleak but we must keep going until the end.