If you think about it, every month could be a world, and so a world could end every time the clock struck midnight on the last day of the year. It’s like how different life forms can have shorter lives. Imagine living an entire lifetime in a month. Or a week. Or a day.
This is sometimes how I feel about the months that pass. Like some part of me is born and some part of me dies at the turn of every month. It’s not a bad thing, but sometimes I find myself drenched in sadness at the end of a month, wondering what part of me I might lose.
It’s not like this huge part of me. It’s just some tiny part of me that I lose when the month passes. Maybe I think about it too much, or maybe other people think about it too little. I mean, if you can shed thousands of skins cells in a day, can’t you shed some internal part of yourself in a month?
It’s kind of beautiful, right? We’re always changing and leaving part of us behind, which is why sometimes I’m glad I post a blog, because I don’t feel like I’m losing so much when I can write down everything.
I don’t take advantage of that enough. I write about silly things a lot because I’m avoiding those things, and then I lose them and I wonder what happened. What happened is that sometimes we disregard the most real parts of us because we’re scared, and we’re both relieved and saddened when we lose those parts of ourselves.
Or am I just rambling?