"We're not the same, dear, as we used to be.
The seasons have changed and so have we."

"You're not the same."
"What do you mean? I am exactly the same."
"No. No, you're not. You're completely different."
"How so?"
"I can't describe it, really. You're just a different person."
"A different person all together?"
"No, no. You still curtsy and you still swear like a sailor.
But everything else is different."
"I feel exactly the same."
"Do you?"
"Well, now I don't know."

Within the past 48 hours, summer has peacefully bowed out,

leaving a torrential storm of newly painted leaves and
the promise of an autumn breeze in her quiet path of departure.
This time was different.
I was sad to see her go; she left without waking me.
It was just before midnight.
The only sign of her stealthy exit
was a gray and humid kiss upon my cheek.
This time will be different.

He was on the phone, settled into the arms of an orange chair,
speaking of times and dates that have yet to reveal themselves.
Lying on my stomach, sprawled across his bed wearing only
my undergarments, I began to scrawl mismatched words,
molding them into aimless sentences.
We were separate; engaged within ourselves,
tending to the delicate nature of our separate lives.
We were unified in our comfort.
This is what it feels like to be whole.
This is what life could be like.
We are trying to change;
Digging through the premature rubble, almost nightly,
hoping to find the fragments of what
we were before things threatened to crumble.
That singular moment of wholeness
reconfirmed how it is I want to feel.

Just recently have I become aware of
how little I should trust people.
I am blatantly disobeying the way I've
always known by biting my tongue and holding back.
To be quite honest, I've become rather smug.
Saying nice things with a smirk and a contrived glint in my eye.
In my quest in trying with all my might
to avoid becoming like them, the best parts of myself
seem to melt away, leaving only the ugliest parts of human nature.
This, of course, is a harsh assessment of my current
character, but it in no way desensitizes my fear
in replicating anyone but myself.

I am thoroughly convinced that everything we have (or don't have),

everyone we know (or have yet to meet) and everything we are
(or will become), can be attributed to a solitary, inconsequential
ten minute moment. And, of course, each moment can be traced
back to another moment, so much so that I will gladly argue
that we can all go back to the very beginning, if we so chose.
I am currently engulfed in dark, silence bounding through my mind,
turning the pages, eagerly searching for where this moment began.

Summer had just bloomed, exploiting every color in bursts of sunshine. I sat perched on a lawn chair, a blushing technicolor drink in one hand, the other holding a pink parasol over my head, my legs crossed and glistening from a fresh coat of sunscreen; it was during this rare moment of self assurance that he sat next to me.

That's how this moment was born.




(photo by: christianog.com)