I feel like one of those prehistoric bugs trapped in amber. My wings are frozen in flight and I’m using every ounce of energy I have to move forward, but it’s a useless battle. And time just scares me. It’s as if with every passing hour, minute, second the distance from the time where we were stretches even thinner and I know that eventually the fraying thread that connects us could snap. And like with many beautiful memories we’ll be swept along the river of time, flowing downstream and barely fighting against the current until we wind up collecting in the pool of hazy shadows that swirl and blend everything into a foggy past. We’ll slip from what was real to what is nostalgia. Our brief time and story will sit untouched on a shelf, collecting dust, its pages yellowing and curling in on themselves with age. Little reminders working like portals will pull us back for the briefest of moment, for a moment lifting the layer of grime and we’ll smile and think remember when.
Remember when there was her.
Remember when there was him.
Remember when there was us.
I imagine I can see the river pulling you away from me, carrying you closer and closer to the looming horizon that will allow only a bittersweet sting of melancholy every now and then. For now I’m rooted on the banks refusing to let the memories fade, watching time fly past me, refusing to let us get carried away with it. I’m forever lingering in your dawn lit dormitory listening to the morning bells toll and watching a smile form on your lips that shines a light far brighter than that of the rising sun. And maybe, just maybe, I’m not alone. Maybe you’re rooted on the other side, wondering if I’m ready to let the river take me while you’re still retracing our dizzy steps through the cobbled streets over and over again.
The only moment taken by the river, our goodbye.