Life is moving pretty damn fast.

I feel in such purgatory in this home sometimes.

When I watch my parents get older.

It’s all too much to take sometimes. If I don’t numb it, I could see how it could kill me.

It feels like a stream of water I am trying to catch all of in my bare hands.

And it’s all such a fucked juxtaposition. Spending so much time with my newborn nieces and nephews. Playing with all the vitality youth will bring.

Then spending time right after with my parents. Hearing about the aches. The medicine. The fears.

The only antidote I’ve found is to just be as present as possible.

To try and wring every damn drop out of every pure and everlasting moment.

To just be there.

When I’ve been home, honestly, none of it feels real at all. It feels like apathy.

Perfect, beautiful moments (the ones you can never happen again) are happening every moment. But I can’t feel them. I’m there… Sure. But I’m not present mentally at all.

Life just passing me by. Perilous and in a daze.

Guaranteeing I’ll live with regret because I just simply can’t be presently in this moment.