On days like this, time seems to fall away. The sun is at this one place in the sky, and everything looks golden, as if it were an episode of “Wonder Years.”

It’s almost Fall and I see my hair in the mirror, think “Wow, it hasn’t looked this specific brand of shitty since 1989,” and then I cry because wait, isn’t it still 1989?

I have no idea when I got older. All I know is that it’s not going to stop, until it does.

On days like this, I remember so hard, how it used to feel, in September. All the school supplies were fresh and new, waiting to be filled with notes of a dedicated student, while there was still time, before the inevitable ennui.

The air would be less hot; the trees would get more yellow, and it was my own personal spring time.

On days like this, Grandparents Day, I can’t believe that all four of mine are no longer here. They were for so long, and that means that my death is closer too.

Then I feel guilty, on days like this, for getting sad instead of gathering rosebuds while I may.