I just realized I will never have a birthday when my age is the same as the calendar date.
For example, someone born on April 16th should turn 16 years old on April 16th. But that won't ever happen to me.
realize the shape of things. the nature of things. we ignore the details because we abstract everything. a guy walking with a hoodie on, oh yeah. A blonde girl with slightly chubby legs. But details are not realized anymore. And they so plentiful.
Realize her head, her hair, her two legs, how she swings them alternatingly, an erect animal covered in colorful fabric, seemingly absorbed in her own thoughts and actions, the want to reach her destination so much stronger than her attention on her own movement, when it is wonderful itself.
We are wonderful conscious automata, deciders of Fate, the hinges of possibilities. We Do, We Are. At each ephemeral, infinitesimal moment, we change our world and ourselves to our whim, desire, and choice. Out of infinite possibilities, we choose, time and time again, as long as we live. And yet so many of us ignore this, by choice, by habit, by imitation. Isn't all of this a wonder? What subtle grandeur, what silent constant explosion of possibilit…