The Future is the Future and the Past is the Past

The future is a strange thing to be worried about.

I think I’d rather look back. I’d rather smile about the girl who made my face sore and wet from laughter. I’d rather remember the moment I walked through the streets on a warm evening, alone, and finally felt like everything was okay. I’d rather look back and giggle about the things that made me embarrassed, but now simply amuse me. I’d rather let my entire being fill with the light of a thousand fluorescent beams all the way from my stomach to my brain and down to my toes when I think about what it means to be alive and what I have lived. I’d rather scroll through my camera roll, endless smiling faces and places I have touched and felt, than wishing I could have another life.

The past offers us happiness, sadness, love, heartbreak, triumph, lessons, the smell of burnt toast, sand under your toes, the brightest, most orange of sunsets, red burning cheeks, bubbling laughter, squealing songs out the car window, inhaling, exhaling, looking in the mirror and liking what you see or hating it depending on the way your hair sticks out from your skull, delectable pastries, good coffee, bad coffee, camera flashes and the cheesiest of grins, dancing until the sun rises, difficult conversations, gripping books, judgement and understanding and everything in between.

Good, bad, an amalgamation of all things that made you. 

The future offers us only uncertainty. After all, the only thing we positively know about the future is that we know nothing at all about it. The abyss of time, the waiting, the empty promises, the reaching, reaching, reaaaching but never truly grasping. 

The future is a strange thing to be worried about. 
I’d rather reconcile with the past.