Do you remember when we were just kids
And cardboard boxes took us miles from what we would miss?
School yard conversations taken to heart
And laughter took the place of everything we knew we were not

I want to break every clock
The hands of time could never move again
We could stay in this moment for the rest of our lives
Is it over now, hey, hey, is it over now?

-Anberlin, Inevitable

While I do mine the mornings to write these entries for I find its rubber hits the road characteristic to be practical, there is a dream-like quality to the night. Possibilities are out there, just beyond the headlights cutting through the night air. Time is not as relevant in this face; life is not as material. It is as though I breathe the air of many moments at once. I look down at these hands in the dim light: are they looking older?

In my mid-to-late 20s, I saw the change coming. An occasional white hair, an unexpected amount of hair lost in the shower. They were oddities, but I was so close to being young, I could always go back. It was something to joke about; there was no belief that it was a milemarker of any place, rather, I thought it was just a fluke.

Expanding on the topic from yesterday's post, this song by Brad Paisley, Last Time for Everything, captures the realization of lost eras. Undoubtedly, our inability to recognize all of our "last times" is a blessing. If we had, those steps beyond would be gut-wrenching.

The silence is deafening: how many times has something that was once ordinary in our lives now simply gone?

A voice.

A place.

They "Can't Be Really Gone..."

In the moment, I thought it would happen again—it always happened. "Of course, it'll happen again." I didn't see that it was the last time—how could I have?

What lies just beyond the street lamp, or drifts within the ocean's mist of a ship's nocturnal journey, tugs at my soul and imparts a mesmerizing touch of Linger.