We swing like there's no tomorrow because we both know there isn't.
For her, she has this innate sense of carpe diem—soon you will make me go home, soon it will rain, soon I may want to slide instead of swinging.
For me, I know too well how fast a summer rushes past us both. How, in August, "tomorrow" can so easily become October. How our busyness and our business rob us of the moment. Split each day into ever-decreasing slots to seize.
We swing like there's no tomorrow to slow today down. In our speed the world seems slow. We become the ones out of control and not the reverse.
This summer, I will at least remember.
At least I will remember this summer.
This summer, at least, I will remember.
I will remember this summer.
And in October's longer nights not startle to awareness that the summer we so anticipate has slipped away into a darker fall. Again.
We swing like there's no tomorrow because we both know there isn't.
