On that day I stood tall, at the foot of my death bed, metaphysically. Knowing that to start anew I’d have to crawl, and this transformation was aphoristically. The past has faded. The future doesn’t exist. Time is illusorily jaded.
Still others refuse to watch the storm or entertain the idea that life holds complications, but love to plop down with you and chatter of past storms. While pretending there’s nothing building on the horizon.