Misty Memories
The engine clicks, angry at being left to cool down in the setting sun, all alone except for the rubber bases running around the pitcher’s mound, and the rocks ringing the packed dirt, taunting the car at being trapped there, as immobile as they are. “Do you really think she is coming back for you? Do you even know why you are here? We know… we remember her…”
The water rushes past, laughing at the girl sitting on the bridge. Transient and playful, it forgets, and doesn’t see anything but a young girl on a bridge. The same river is never stepped in twice, and the same water never sees the same thing. Certainly not the memories that led her here, and certainly not the origins of those memories, more than a year before.
“Why does it still hurt so badly? Shouldn’t a year and a half be enough to forget, to move on?” Her tears fall into the water, and the river mourns for her, it’s burbling becoming desolate for a second, before new laughing droplets rush to replace it.
The girl sighs, and picks herself up. Walking down the path, she runs her hand along the branches, dislodging the last few brown leaves, and letting the wind stir them as the darkening sky stirs her memories.
Reaching the meadow, she begins the circle, following a trail of memories more than any actual trail. That grove of birch, a group of friends in a basement. Those shadows, the Cabaret show that night. That moonlight-struck gust of wind as the sun disappears, a hand in the darkness. As the last of the sunlight fades, the mist rises and she walks into a land of dreams, a trail of memories.
For a moment, the past overcomes reality, and she can see her memories running through the meadow, a shadow of what used to be there. There, wolf and man superimposed, the definition of beauty loping across the cooling ground. There, a lovesick girl shivering, waiting for a meeting that never happened. In the fog, she is lost again, following her memories, crying for what used to be.
The path circles again, and she wonders if she’ll ever leave, if maybe she’ll be lost to the memories, and no one will ever find her. The wind through the trees reminds her of another night spent in this meadow, another walk across the cold grass. The distant stream becomes rhythmic, bringing her back to other memories, other places where the mist swirls and the cold seeps through to her heart.
Around the meadow, circling again, unable to see the trees or the trail, wandering alone through the night. She forgets when she is again, and reaches out for his hand, but the mist parts to reveal there is no one near her. The ground welcomes her, letting her sink down on her knees. There, on a trail of nightmares, with a blanket of mist in the night, she realizes she’s lost herself in this place of memories.
The water rushes past, laughing at the girl sitting on the bridge. Transient and playful, it forgets, and doesn’t see anything but a young girl on a bridge. The same river is never stepped in twice, and the same water never sees the same thing. Certainly not the memories that led her here, and certainly not the origins of those memories, more than a year before.
“Why does it still hurt so badly? Shouldn’t a year and a half be enough to forget, to move on?” Her tears fall into the water, and the river mourns for her, it’s burbling becoming desolate for a second, before new laughing droplets rush to replace it.
The girl sighs, and picks herself up. Walking down the path, she runs her hand along the branches, dislodging the last few brown leaves, and letting the wind stir them as the darkening sky stirs her memories.
Reaching the meadow, she begins the circle, following a trail of memories more than any actual trail. That grove of birch, a group of friends in a basement. Those shadows, the Cabaret show that night. That moonlight-struck gust of wind as the sun disappears, a hand in the darkness. As the last of the sunlight fades, the mist rises and she walks into a land of dreams, a trail of memories.
For a moment, the past overcomes reality, and she can see her memories running through the meadow, a shadow of what used to be there. There, wolf and man superimposed, the definition of beauty loping across the cooling ground. There, a lovesick girl shivering, waiting for a meeting that never happened. In the fog, she is lost again, following her memories, crying for what used to be.
The path circles again, and she wonders if she’ll ever leave, if maybe she’ll be lost to the memories, and no one will ever find her. The wind through the trees reminds her of another night spent in this meadow, another walk across the cold grass. The distant stream becomes rhythmic, bringing her back to other memories, other places where the mist swirls and the cold seeps through to her heart.
Around the meadow, circling again, unable to see the trees or the trail, wandering alone through the night. She forgets when she is again, and reaches out for his hand, but the mist parts to reveal there is no one near her. The ground welcomes her, letting her sink down on her knees. There, on a trail of nightmares, with a blanket of mist in the night, she realizes she’s lost herself in this place of memories.