At Fourteen

At fourteen, I thought less about the future
and, unaware of Buddhism, lived in the moment.
Even a day was usually unplanned, spontaneous,
open to what the universe had planned for me.

If life is like a sonnet, the turn occurred when
the future became my focus and the present
rushed by out of control, and the past
became nostalgia, a read book fondly remembered.

At fourteen, I believed, without proof, in eternity.
The days unfolded unbidden and I was content
in thinking at some point I would be able to see

That fourteen-year-old’s future is my present,
slipping away from what I wanted it to be,
and even partially my past, now already spent.

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We write to taste life twice.

We paint, take the photo, record light

changing around us, trying desperately to catch

the moment, hold it for the future,

get a second chance – and always fail.

The moment changed. The artist more changed.

brushes


“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.” ~ Anaïs Nin