it is late, and i have left all of these things too long, so they have dropped, and i have forgotten them. now there is never enough time for anything, except for feeling the transition of things, the used to be against itself, the way i am fighting and lost in that. i know that this will not be forever, like i thought it might, once. that nothing is, like i thought it might be. i know that, in the way things scatter like they do, i will be picked up and floated and dropped again, washed up someplace. this is such a small and funny place, a curious puzzle, a fingertip on a fingertip. simple. not simple. tonight i read things and think about all the things i am not doing, the way i am the overlapped version of myself and my potential. but right now, people are doing so much, and some of them are breathing. i stop, and remember to do that. some of them are breathing.