Audrey Knight

days draw into one, weeks go by in an hour, and a year falls between your fingers without realizing you had ever held it. is it lack of sleep, vitamins, over-abundance of stress, work, fun. i dont know. i seem to lack the ability to pause life long enough to figure out where it's going in such a hurry. doubtful understanding the source of such furious speed would aid in its undoing. i do not know where my life has been. the memories even from yesterday seem too distant. seven years have passed since i began writing this thought. and all my life is a jumbled blur of memories rushing in front of my eyes as though i were a passenger in a car speeding down an old mill road. rusted mailboxes and trees and tall grasses and clouds all blur together. in the end merely stripes of color smear where once an object stood. is the memory of the mailbox truth, or did i notice the stripe of color after it had passed and imagine it must have looked like a mailbox. the mailbox and the cloud, the painful and the sublime, all are mixed together as one. impossible to distinguish from the others. does this taint the good in my life, to allow the unpleasant weeds to permeate, forever distorting the long even lines of black and yellow and red. the sunflowers and butterflies of youth. or does the chaotic rush to the end soften all the nightmares and monsters i might see standing on the road.