it begins at some point your first ever time to have the lonely thought 'these new kids, the children of today' they.. they are not your familiar crust the ratio indifference and posing that you could read in your contemporaries the sound of their sway is certainly not the world today, it feels lonelier somehow it was nothing you did except grow older not by insistence or by desire but happenstance novelty marginalizes you now you thought you were standing by a changing river but you were getting sucked heinously all this while through the tubes of a cruel, indifferent vacuum cleaner
Mostly I brush life off my shoulder when it falls gently from a tree, or when it grows from my shirt like lint. Mostly i sigh it away like a laugh from an unfounded joke or a waft of extra air in speech. Except sometimes.