We all rush around like we’re holding rifles in our hands for the first time.
Maybe we’re fixing the wrong targets in our sights, shooting through the right things to reach them, accidentally putting others in the line of fire.
We spend time and energy like bullets, barely feeling the recoil battering our bruised shoulders, ignoring our youth until we feel the ache in our calcifying bones.
We feel exhilaration from burning ourselves at both ends because we can, because we might as well be happy.
Until our fireworks fizzle out, and the embers begin to die.
We hold on.
Just until then.