In the questions you ask me, there’s an empty space where your understanding should be. 

 

Of course I don’t worry about tomorrow. I don’t worry about next week or next year, either. I don’t worry about them anymore than I worry about a plane crashing into my house as I sleep, or my leg suddenly developing a mind of it’s own, detaching itself and galloping towards the sun, glad to finally be free of this body, flawed and angry as it is. 

 

I don’t worry about tomorrow, and I wish you wouldn’t either. Tomorrow is always nothing but a maybe while today stares at you screaming yes. Yes yes yes. Yes. Now. Yes. This. This is now and I am happening and we are here and today, yes, yes, yes. 

 

I don’t worry about what could be, and I don’t worry about tomorrow and while there are a million tiny concerns buried under my skin aching to dig a tunnel through me to my face and voice, I realize, always, that there is no sense in thinking of what could be. Be here, be with what is, be with me now and let tomorrow be a concern when it becomes today.

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