Last Year.

This time last year, I was more than a year younger.

Last October, I hardly knew what I was missing. It was still a leisurely month, spent walking the tree-lined streets, watching my favourite chocolate bar wrapper change from yellow to brown. Hard to remember I was still exploring this town and now my beard is just a little bit thicker, my poetry book slightly wiser, and the pornography I watch just a tad finer.

I’m not a miserable old bastard quite yet, though I’ve studied the greats. I have read more of their books and watched all the debates, grew up at double speed. I know I’m not the only one. I found a friend I once had…

She was a one-time teenage rebel; now the first to marry and her chin size doubled. Can you get seriously married this young? Her lovers’ waistcoat comes from a single fad from about five years ago. Less knights of the round table, more nights of the long knives. I’m sure this time next year I’ll scald myself for caring. These things change. Like when I moved hairdressers. My barber was getting too close to my ears with his clippers.

Since last year, there is a lingering sense of absence. October to October, dust to dust. And you should never have the feeling you got it all sussed. This time last year, I was quite a few years younger. For you were still here – this time last year.

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