What are you fighting for?
For unnamed things, for precious things, for things that I learned to treasure too late. For things that slip away before we know that they are all around us.
For the rising of the sun and the scudding of the clouds, for the slow wheeling of birds and the run of water over stone. For the cold air and the harsh wind, and the still of high summer. For the loneliness and the heartbreak and the acid burn of tears and the hollow chest ache of breaking up. For the balmy breeze and the muted laughter and the summer evening and the purple dusk. For the water pearls on cobwebs and the frost on windows, for the moist mist over wet grass and the silent peace in the garden. For the unknowing stars and the dog skin and the weight of a child. For the stink of blood and anger and sorrow and the bitter, bitter taste of love. For bright lights and city noise and leaf strewn lanes and country damp.
For my dead parents and my grown-up brother and the graves of all the pets we had, and the fact that I never got to see my friends again after I moved, even though I always intended to. For my childhood and my adolescence and my adulthood that leads me on to the grave, and for my husband. For the weddings of my great, great, great grand -children that I will never see and the Christmases I will never celebrate and the countries and people and places and things and food I will never see and never taste.
Because I cannot shake the choking feeling that there is never enough time, anymore. Never enough time.