Today, We Match, America.

Today was 9/11.

Though, according to the clock, it was yesterday, For my body and brain, it's still today.

Isn't it ironic how cliché life gets?

Especially when the big moments in your life seem to match up with big moments in life itself.

America, you went through a tragedy 10 years ago. Today was a day that you had to remember it. I know you have grief and residual anger and lingering confusion as to what happened and why and who it was so we can blame them for it. Somebody has to PAY for it. Right?

Right?

And yet, life goes on. As it always did, as it always will.

People pay for it every day. We all do. By still living. That's the price we pay for life: living.

Time never was subjective, was it?

And at this same moment, I reminisced about my own personal tragedy. And re-witnessed a different form of it this weekend.

Because half of me expects the world to stop. Stop right now. How are you living, breathing, functioning, moving, repeating? when injustice continues to plague lungs and slash some hearts.

The other half of me wants to be apart of that constant transfer of energy. The jealousy of movement pangs me, because it is not time that has stopped, but my breathing. I am stopped. And I must watch the world uphold its ability to press forward while I take my slow, painful, frustratingly prolonged time getting back on that stupid horse.

And yet, life goes on. As it always did, as it always will.

We are always subjective, aren't we?

Yeah. I am.

Here's some buffalo from Wyoming. Happy trials. Whoops. I meant trails.

Side Note: My life is not as dramatic as appears in the rearview mirror.