There is a fear of loss that exists within our avoidance of the present

I laid in the sun in late July, contemplating the passing of summer. Feeling already the miss of it, alongside the appreciation of it. But maybe most of all the slipping away of it. That within each passing moment, the world is turning. Things are no longer the same. It is, in some ways, excruciating and illicits the feeling of unfairness that I can’t possible perceive every change, every sign that something I love is coming to a close.