Where has the time gone; wasted I suppose.
But wasted leaves a bad taste, an anxious tug;
And these empty, slow-moving hours spent in alternating togetherness and solitude
Leave me full, content and drunk on the nectar of sweet revenge of the nothingness of the day
When my endless lists tell me I should be doing a million other things.
But I won't regret this time of impromptu baking, family movies, couch forts, brotherly antics, messy rooms, warm blankets and good books.
After all, there's always tomorrow.
Over and out...