It's been a long time, four months–that's nearly half a year, from Friday the 13th on this summer. Have you noticed that the day was indeed on the 13th? A pleasant way to close the book, at least we had something to blame for the passing of days, the absence of "then" and overbearing presence of now. In the car on the way home, I squeezed all of the special moments out and used them as Kleenex. "Don't talk to me," I said. "I'm living in the past," and I was.
It seemed so Robert Frosty what I felt, and still sometimes get an essence of. The absence of something, the loss. Flat words on flat computer screens that define today, diverging in thy yellow wood, each of us branching off into the lives that we'd so happily begun. It was amazing to me that you had been born, bred, and lived sixteen years before we met. I am so two dimensional, I know. In my eyes, you were born the moment I said hello, on that first evening of innocence.
Can we replay that, please? Can we live in it again, because I'd like to.
All the rest of them planning trips to snowy cabins in the mountains, perhaps this would settle my stomach, but I'm scared. What if it is different? Their eyes will be older, their hair sprung up, and no one the same. We'll kill every second with each voice that we spend, for half of our friendship is location.
Half our friendship was plowing through the wetted evening in our bare-feet, singing songs that I did not know. You may go to the reunion in Utah, but I will stay here, and watch the rain, and remember, rejoice, and replay. Yes, I'd rather just replay than move on.
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Submission Name: The result after a lifechanging experience
