None of it Matters. And all of it Does.

He crept toward my car, each step a painful reminder of a life slipping away.

I rushed to him, offered my arm and opened the door. Pride initially made him hesitate, but reality forced him to humbly accept. He talked about how tired he was. How he’d spent the entire day at the appointment, alone with the tubes, the paperwork, the wristbands. And after the small talk, we rode in quiet peace. Same car. Different destinations.

I dropped him off the same way we met, helping him all the way to his door.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“My pleasure,” I replied, and drove away, lost in my thoughts.

Death doesn’t scare me.

But I run from it anyway.

I sprint down a beach until my lungs burn, refusing to look in the rearview mirror. I’m racing from a past that no longer exists. Sneaking out past curfew. The blissful ignorance of forbidden fruit. The wild butterflies of a first stolen kiss followed by the raw ache of love lost.

My wife and I argued about bills today. So I went out to Uber, only to be confronted by reality, not of work or money, but of life. Love.

And suddenly it’s obvious.

None of it matters.

And all of it does.

I’ll head home soon. The bills will still be there. But so will she. And I’ll hold on to both as long as I can. 

The struggle and the love.