Days – Paul Andrew Sneddon

Sometimes I think about the days.

I’ve already had more than some, and less than others. Some just ran away from me, whether I let them or not.

The days I remember best are the ones I rose to meet. Making something from nothing.

And I think about the other days. The ones where I was stuck on the couch. Scattered across the floor. The weight on my chest.

And I think about today.

This moment.

And whatever days I’ve got left to come.

I know what I’m going to do with them.

Fine words.

Till the rain falls.

Or sleep doesn’t come.

I look in the mirror.

And I look straight back.