I’ve heard that life is hard. I’ve learned that life isn’t fair. I’ve seen how life is short, but I’ve lately become familiar with a new one: Life doesn’t make sense. It just doesn’t. I spent a good portion of my summer last year trying to make sense of things and finally gave up out of sheer exhaustion. Life’s too short to dwell on the past, they say, but past-dwelling’s genetic. I got it from my mother. She used to be notorious for bringing up long-forgotten arguments and never letting go. She’s more mellow now and that’s something to look forward to, I guess. Anyway, for someone who notoriously analyzes and agonizes over every little detail, I was never really able to let go of the non-sense making issues of last summer, which inevitably prepared me for what happened next: I’ve come face-to-face with last summer. Contrary to popular belief, opportunity does knock twice. I can’t make sense of it and won’t try. After all, life’s too short, but, man is it sweet.
“The less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine.” --Emily Saliers
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