Today is the last day of June,
but I don’t know if it’s the end of
I, like many others, divide my time between
beginnings and ends,
firsts and lasts.
I anticipate the start
and I can dread, long for, or hardly notice the end.
What signals an ordinary end, I wonder?
Why do I miss endless endings?
Why do I yearn for beginnings?
What lasting impression do I seek when I catalog
my “firsts” and “lasts”?
Why do I (we) place such significance on these two experiences?
We celebrate births.
We mourn deaths.
We throw a few celebrations in the middle.
What is it about the ends (firsts and lasts) that mark the highlights of our lives?
We chart courses.
We meet ends.
We fold one into the other and repeat the process.
How much longer will this last?
My guess is eternity.
I am a creature of habit.
I can only begin to consider how this will end.