You look into the yearbooks, the dusty photo albums,
those photos that froze all the poses, the façades of joy
first movie, first learned to ride a bike
first date, the list continues
the possibilities can never diminish—the scroll unravels past the horizon
for as cheesy as it really is, there's a new first in every day.
We put all the highlights into the books
and the lowlights don't exist—they weren't
while, on the contrary, it's the lowlights we can never forget.
How do we know it's our last, our worst, though,
until we're all gone—just ashes scattered around the garden
or rotting bones in the cold ground
next to grandma again?
We don't and there's always a worse fall,
more fatal accident,
but you can't relate to what you'll never know.