It’s just a thought, but there are times when I look back on what has been my life so far and wonder, when did I get to be this old? When did I get to feeling so nostalgic, to the point where it borders on the melancholy. Why do I find it so hard to except change, and to be holding into the way that things really should be, or the way that I think that things should be.
I am finding myself knowing a lot of people, but the number of people that I would call my friends is numbering less then ten. Why is all of this happening to me now? So questions seem to have no answers. In the end it is all good. So it goes. Press on regardless.