Rusty Regrets & Trillions of Light Years

I do not want the rusty regrets of a misspent life. The ghosts of past haunting me. I must make my life what I want it to be. Oh, I shall. I must. How can I live with myself otherwise. Do you remember when everyone’s biggest dream was going to Disneyland? I do. That was all our biggest hope. Now our biggest dreams are seemingly out of reach. We turned ten and now all any of us want is our fifteen minutes of fame, preferably longer. We believe firmly we are entitled to it, our birthright. Success means a trophy wife and an empty mansion. The lives of barbies and kens, fake plastic that doesn’t break down or decompose for three or four times our lifetime, maybe more. It isn’t real. And when you realize that, and that realization is inevitable, you can’t outrun it. When you realize that, you feel like you just got stung by four wasps at once out on a old farm with miles stretching all around you.


Apparently space is constantly expanding. Think about it. Trillions of light years on and on. Seemingly neverending. Just all the polychromatic galaxies, stars, universes, on and on. And then somewhere in all of this, there’s us. Earth, our planet. All the history, all the evolution, all the stories, have occurred simply on these seas and lands. Every human being since the dawn of time has lived on this same planet with its humble seven continents.