Life's short, seriously.
It's like, sprinting around a lake.
You run, and keep on running.
Without even realizing that,
You're getting further,
And further away from your origin.
As you run, many things have caused the sprint to be delightful.
You insist to keep on running, and refuse to pause.
You begin to love the view,
The wind that slaps your face as you make your pace,
The air which somewhat enlivening,
The bees buzzing,
Birds chirping,
Or perhaps, the sound of your own breath.
And someday, somehow,
We come to the end.
And at that time, we'll be not ready,
Love. We begin to love this sprint.
Though tiring.
Though excruciating.
For the last time, we:-
We look back and whine,
"Oh, that should've been mine..."
*sigh*
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