Yesterday, last hour, a minute ago.
Everything was supposed to happen in the past.
Nothing for now.
Nothing for later.
We don't want to wait,
so we fight ourselves and everyone else;
flap about disconsolately; wonder about the meaning of life
Where are the fantasies of meandering,
when people want to begin with endpoints?
Non memories of ecstatic moments,
a blur that ends in a sigh.
The future stretches ahead,
a large room filled with mementos and trophies.
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