23

it must be three years ago, to the month.

i was at the library, writing up an essay on sensory perception, a month before i had to hand it in, when i was madly motivated.

i would go to the library everyday almost, and sit there from noon until closing time at 8, reading and researching anything and everything.

one afternoon, after i got there, plugged my laptop in, connected to the net, gathered the necessary books and finally settled down to begin work, i noticed an old man across from me. he was easily in his eighties, well dressed enough to make his wrinkles look dignified, with a slightly mad look in his eye, and terribly fidgety. he had a paper in front of him and books unopened to his side. the chinese kids on the table looked at him with stigma and moved to another table. i remember seeing him notice it clearly, but somehow he did not seem to care.

i began my work, and barely noticed him bent over a notepad, with a shaky pen in between his fingers. a while later, from the corner of my eye i saw him take a scale, place it against the paper and tear it at the edge. he then leaned across the table, fully catching my eye, and pushed the folded paper toward me and said, out of a crazy concern, "why are you in the library! go out and play!" taken aback by this clear eyed old man, i had no words to reply. he didnt seem to want one, and walked away, gingerly on his old knobby legs.

something about the way he looked in at me made my heart race, and i felt nervous as i reached over to open the note he had left me.

"The Moving Finger Write.... your Life

And having writ, moves On

All your Tears and all your Prayers

Will not Change a Jot of It!

So Live For Today!!!

What is Life!!"

his words have been tightly wrapped around me since.