DatingJosh

My life rushes by at stupefying speeds. Like a blender on ‘puree’, a food processor on ‘high’, a race car humming at 7000 rpm, even like photons streaming from the sun, it blazes onward, barreling headlong toward darkness and uncertainty. I push the button, but there is no stopping this train; this fucker is on “Max” and the brake handle is out of commission. I scream for help and, scarcely as they are formed, the words are snatched by the slipstream and shredded to unintelligible bits.

Every day I find myself another Astronomical Unit, 149 million kilometers, farther removed from her, hurtling through the utter blackness of space, desolate and alone. I am the Voyager spacecraft, racing beyond the cusp of her warmth, containing only a record of wonderful memories that were. I am ‘Spirit’ and ‘Opportunity’, abandoned on the barren surface of Mars, my usefulness eclipsed, my warranty void, left to decompose on an unfeeling, alien surface. I am an insignificant pale blue dot in a mote of sunlight in the farthest, dustiest corner of her universe.

In short, I am fucked. Happy Birthday to me.