The days go on and still there is no room or time for what people asked me to do and I never got around to doing. I woke up from my bed to write this out of a compelling feeling of incompletion. Incomplete because there are so many things I want to do in my life. There are so many people that I could help or gain insight from. My boys could raise their candor with me and my wife and daughter could confide in me at will. There are so many mistakes I could be making right now. Experience isn't primary, but it's the catalyst of distant and avoided moments that I usually find myself tipp-toeing away from. I can't say I'll feel this away again for a while, but if I don't I truly hope I read this post and just drift into it's reflective sea.
I'm always asking myself if I can make a difference before I die. I think that's all I want.
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