"There may be more beautiful times, but this one is ours."
I sit here, writing. There's this way that my fingers dance on the keyboard--skipping frenetically for materializing thoughts. My eyes are presently dry from urgency, and will be until my lids remember to quench the lenses the allow me sight. And I do in actuality, bite my bottom lip--my tongue and teeth pin it in unfelt pain.
But I do not write about these things; I don't write about what is happening right this very, very moment. My words are most often about the past, soaking in and learning from it. And of course they're often about the future, about charging forward and summoning moxie and jumping off of figurative brave cliffs.
And that's too bad, I think. Some of the best things and purest thoughts are happening right now, and it'd be such a shame if I let the past swallow it all whole or the future fade the vibrance. I'd like to learn to do that illusive thing we call "living in the moment." I'd like to love my own seconds, much more than Paris in the twenties and more than that dinner last week.
There have been wonderful times in the history of everything. And I have such beautiful pasts and futures of my own, I know. But it's nice that today is mine, and it is all I need to shoulder for now.
image: a still from one of my current favorites