What if there is no time? What if “now”, because it is unique to each person, doesn’t exist?
There is no time, there is no now. What if there is no change? When the boy’s voice deepens, where does the baby voice go? Maybe we remain, at atom or at heart, the same, and we are still baby, still teen, still full. Maybe life is not emptying. Maybe it is seeding and remaining.
My mother looks different now. Thinner every month, the eyes often wide, the hair unkempt. She could be but a shell. But maybe we remain, at soul or atom or heart or fiber, the same. It is another day of life, still well lived, by those of us still child, still little and shy, still speeding down secret freeways, still up at dawn, still free.