A crazy thought
that we need one hundred years
in order to feel as if we’ve fulfilled some prophecy
or a purpose for our once lived lives.
I probably haven’t seen enough under the sun,
Yet
Maybe I have,
Maybe I’ve been to the zoo just enough times.
I’ve seen a zebra once or twice.
I’ve watched the ducks waddle
crossing parks with their posse of friends
The sun;
I’ve seen it rise,
I’ve seen it set
Just enough times for my 17 years of life and light.
How many times have I fallen off of my bed?
Is it good enough
that it wasn’t that often?
I’ve thought about this.
How many times have I done an action?
How many days have I spent alive?
6,250.
How many Saturdays?
I don’t know.
I do know that I don’t really care
and that there are way too many complicated calculations that would have to go into these completely non fascinating and unimportant questions
Maybe if I stay, I’ll grow old, and in a place where the sun doesn’t reach, or shine through.  
I’ll walk
Float,
like a pale ghost. If the sun doesn’t hit me can I turn into a ghost?
or are ghosts only reserved for the dead?
I’d like to be a ghost
But not just like any ghost
The kind of ghost that you’d see in cartoons.
the white sheeted ones with spooky midnight eyes.
and I wouldn’t be noticeable.
but oh so full of madness and trickery.
It seems so fairly Intriguing
And life feels like the punching of numbers into a calculator