Always a Day Off

Hmm. I cried the other day, and that is not a thing that occurs often in my life. Oh, it was yesterday, no, it was Monday night. When I do things like that I tend to block them out.
Why did I cry? You ask. Read the "Love Story" post from the other day and then imagine that your hand is my hand and that it is resting gently on a larger much older hand. A hand that is only a shadow of the hand it used to be. You are curling your fingers around the hand that held yours as a child, a hand that protected you when you were scared, tickled you until you screamed in laughter and protest, and the hand that guided you towards the path you are taking to your dreams.
Your hand moves and you place it alternately upon the forehead and chest of the person whose hands you now hold. You bend over and lay your head on the heart that gave life so that your heart could beat too. You feel the rise and fall of the chest as the breath fills the lungs and feel the feverish heat that radiates from the exposed skin of the sleeping figure; you stay this way for several minutes…listening and feeling.
As you finally rise you touch the hand one more time and gaze at the face that you knew and loved so well, you let go of that hand and walk away…. You knew… unconsciously, you had a feeling that something about this night was a little different from the rest, but not realizing that that was the last moment you would ever be able to hold that hand and feel that heart beat, and that when you were woken several hours later, in the early hours of the morning, your life would be forever changed.



I don't know if it is because I'm too busy to keep up or what, but it seems as if I'm always a day late or more when I attempt to keep a record of what happened on a particular day.
I suppose I will forget about describing the events, maybe I'll just describe the sequence of emotions, or maybe calculated thoughts, I'm not sure which would be the best way to record things. I'm not exactly why I have the urge to record my life in this manner, or why I do it at all. Millions of people live everyday of their lives without any kind of comprehensible record of the things that occurred in their lives or the thoughts or feeling that they had along the way.