A day plucked from everyday

Today is the second of February
and today I am thinking of the future.
It is a custom for me to marvel at the emptiness of it.
To wonder at the invisible hand ready to write the moments, the minutes, the seconds
that will come to pass.
To think ill at the thought that that hand isn't yours.
To fear at the thought if it actually was mine.

I fear the day that I will die not because of death itself, but, ironically, of life. I fear that when the day comes I cannot boast of a life well lived.
I fear the possibility that death will be better than my days accumulated.
I fear for what if's lost in idle state,
and action numbed down to lazy compromises.

Today is the second of February
and today I am thinking of the future
and today I admit to fear it.