There are times when there’s nothing I want to write about. When there’s nothing much I really want to say. Time is so limited. It arrives, then it goes, and it arrives, and it goes – does it ever leave you feeling at peace? I suppose it does. There are times when time itself leaves me alone: it says to me, “Fine, Dean, do what you want,” and I’m at a beach or with some friends or I’m watching Netflix or something, and the little worries of life are chipped away and I’m left with something pure, like contentment, or love, or truth, or something only my heart will understand. How about you? When’s the last time you’ve forgotten to worry? When’s the last time you’ve let time leave you alone?
It was evening and Christie and I were sitting in front of penguins. She had her phone out and she was taking photos of them. The penguins were small, and they had their mouths open and were waddling about. She smiled at them, and I looked at the water and the horizon and I said something, and she said something back.
Don’t forget to subscribe