We all reside on a celestial body rotating around a gargantuan sphere consisting mostly of hydrogen and gas. At least that’s what I’m told. And as this giant rock gyrates its annual revolution, we experience an environmental change based off of the axis, or better know as obliquity. Temperatures change and most organisms continue their life cycles.
Curiosity beckons, what odds would be on this systematic process malfunctioning. I understand skipping winter this year is improbable, but can the jade pigment of chlorophyll be preserved for just a little longer? I have no need for photosynthesis. Oxygen only helps me breathe.
Self-centered you might say. Don’t look at me. Blame the flux of foliage for its egotism, hibernating away within its metabolic depression. It craves to embellish that distant springtime. Well I opt for tossing wrench into this time and space. I’ve grown nauseous from the dizziness and demand it all to stop. Evidently despite my request, this blue planet keeps spinning its way towards the sun.
Days, weeks, months, years, all organized with human precision. Arithmetic and astronomical calendars attempt to pin-point every detail of our existence. Obsessed with this never ending archive, I feel we have become dependent on the mere thought of passing time. Whatever happened to the idea of eternal youth? Perhaps they finally figured out that immortality is just as useless as the concept of infinity.
To my knowledge, we are the only species to record our own birth dates, “Happy Birthday.” People have been offering me that age old expression all day long. Everybody, excluding one.
Truth is, I don’t care to spend another one without her.