Summer; Sunday in anticlimatic

Looking back on my life I think about waking up on my parents couch some sunday morning in the summer to the sound of my mom doing dishes, the smell of burnt toast and coco wheats for my baby brother, and the sound of a lawnmower through open windows. What a dream I had of living a life, so many lives really, but thank heavens it’s only 1989 with time hanging heavy and ripe on the vine in a world of tradition stability and promise. At first it sounds appealing, but then I get to thinking about the things I’ve known and I realize how sad it would be to have only dreamed about the people I loved, the places I’ve been, the experiences I’ve tasted. I think just knowing it all happened is preferable to me than erasing all that just for a little more time.

At the end of the day, if we stay awake that long, after everyone we’ve ever loved or respected has fallen asleep over the course of the evening, what purpose remains in staying awake?