We are in our late 20s now and
We are grown-ass men and
Eric said “We’re not gonna get any older than this, are we?
I mean, that probably won’t happen to us.”
And I hope that we don’t, though I know that we will.
I miss the beer bottles and the cigarette butts and even the smell of Febreeze-over-dude
In the house where we all one way or another grew from boys into men
(Though I think most of us would say that we’re not sure what that means)
And though I am making a kind of peace with the fact that those days are behind me now
I wonder whether I was wrong in my conviction that we could not all change the same
And it would be a lie if I were to tell you that I have not been thinking about going back home.
The front porch was holy, holy, holy, and Eric said that he sometimes felt that he should take off his shoes to stand on it.
I do not pray anymore. But I hope that that holiness is not gone from me forever
I hope that somewhere among the clean and well furnished living rooms that await me in the future
Tucked between careers and the births of my friends’ children
Some holiness like it still waits for me.
I do not pray anymore, but I hope that I pass with age into what are only different, and not lesser, sweetnesses than those that i have known.
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For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.
—T.S. Eliot (via invisibleforeigner)