is near nothing as unequivocally defining.
yet it changes every single day. Moving on as swift as a change in the wind.
Silent and utterly unnoticeable, but to the few who put themselves out there to
no one ever tells you that. Especially not in a world in which it is seemingly everything.
ask. And at first the response is always one of shock, awe. Because it sets you
aside, heralds. But these days are limited. It can’t last. For that wind is
ever changing and each and every single one slips away, just as fast, maybe
faster. Cascading from the kind of grip found at the end of a long hard honest
days work. The kind disguising control, but in reality ridden with sweat, tired and frail.
one ever tells you it’s only once. This day.
try to fill with optimism. And it is amazing. Proclaiming many chances, eyes on
the horizon and not our feet below, stood firmly in the dirt of the present.
It's easier that way.
can remember youth. Real youth that is. When an inch could be gained overnight,
when a week, a month, let alone a year, seemed an eternity. I don't know how
long ago that was. But I remember it a little.
remember walking up the concrete stairs of our house age six, looking through
the front window, something falling on the television. Dust. I remember
proclaiming it would be ok, holding her hand, that blind naïve optimism only a
child can posses right there in my palm.
emotion is a vivid memory, as strong as the image itself.
now it has gone, that real youth. As
has nineteen, almost. Indefinitely so as a racer. In 2015 a racer I will
remain, but the title of a teen, the
accompanying badge of strange honour, I will no longer posses. 2015 will see
one less year of youthful promise, of potential and of experience to be gained.
One less chance to leave something in the dirt.
the most of the chance. Any chance. Every chance.
It'll be gone before you know it.
Image - SWpix.com