And His Happiness Shouted "Exist!"

Many years haven't passed since I was 23. In fact, I used to be youthful, with an eye towards completeness. Eventualism should be my motto, nowadays. I am very content with watching everything unfold. There have been stereos bought and friends illucidated, but I still wish to be 53 with golden eyes in the presence of thick woods and weeping willows and Louisiana mugginess. A friend could appear, one or two years tardy, but with a powerful gun and a dog or two full of anticipation. Maybe we'd find a sweaty beast to conquer or just a few powerful phrases to utter, laughter to its fullest. Our kids all grown up, trying their best to be what we inadvertedly seemed to. Then we'd know our deceptions and we'd be forgiven and given our lives again renewed. Ahh, to relax in that heat. Our perspiration would cleanse us! We'd find relatives in backyard football youths, or skateboarding punkasses. Sleep would come without acknowledgement, as would conversation. And in each moment we'd exist, as if we'd never have a last. Our novels would lie - under staircases in the darkness. And the sun would heat only the back of our necks, upturned to take a refreshing glass of cold. Then, we'd bask. Then, we'd succumb. Then, we'd delight.