by Andy
Inhale. Scratches in the sand. Little rivets and canyons, trailing behind us like jet streams. I turn my head and trace my own back down the shoreline, reliving all the steps I’ve taken. In places, the sea has reclaimed my path as its own, and I am grateful for that. Sometimes it’s better not to see all the places I have been. I glance down at my bare feet, weathered and covered in muddy globs. Smiling, I let my toes wiggle and dig into the soft beach. I close my eyes. I feel the sand. I feel the moment.
When my eyes drift open I glance over to my right, to you. You take a step to join me, and your heel dashes a memory into the sand. I take your hand. You smile. I smile. Who needs anything else? I am not conscious of a single stride I have taken without you; our trails run parallel to each other and the water. When I look at you, I glimpse memories reflected around and behind me like shards of a broken mirror. I see you through screens and texts. I hear you laugh a hundred different tones. I work through my memories and take in all your different faces. Different yous. And next to each, a different me.
In front of us I see a vast stretch of the shoreline. It seems pure, untouched by the marks of our passing. In a way it shifts, unbound by the finality of our one-way walk. It excites me. It terrifies me. I grip your hand tighter than ever as we take another step together, but I know it’s no use. I’ve never had any control. I feel your hand wither and shrink, melded into a new shape that was wrinkled and creased in someone else’s life. Another shard floats behind me, host and prison of the last us that hiked the beach forever.
But I have learned not to dwell in the melancholy that seems inevitable in our walk. Lamenting over what’s gone only stops me from getting to know your new face, your new hair, your new smile. I feel the new us in a temporary present, but I know us in a permanent forever. I take in all the yous I have known and anticipate the countless ways you will continue to surprise and inspire me. Lining up all the memories of us, I know that the differences between them are not what I should focus on, but the similarities. Throughout this journey, you will always be with me. We will always be together. Deep breath. Tight grip. Another step.
Exhale.
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When my eyes drift open I glance over to my right, to you. You take a step to join me, and your heel dashes a memory into the sand. I take your hand. You smile. I smile. Who needs anything else? I am not conscious of a single stride I have taken without you; our trails run parallel to each other and the water. When I look at you, I glimpse memories reflected around and behind me like shards of a broken mirror. I see you through screens and texts. I hear you laugh a hundred different tones. I work through my memories and take in all your different faces. Different yous. And next to each, a different me.
In front of us I see a vast stretch of the shoreline. It seems pure, untouched by the marks of our passing. In a way it shifts, unbound by the finality of our one-way walk. It excites me. It terrifies me. I grip your hand tighter than ever as we take another step together, but I know it’s no use. I’ve never had any control. I feel your hand wither and shrink, melded into a new shape that was wrinkled and creased in someone else’s life. Another shard floats behind me, host and prison of the last us that hiked the beach forever.
But I have learned not to dwell in the melancholy that seems inevitable in our walk. Lamenting over what’s gone only stops me from getting to know your new face, your new hair, your new smile. I feel the new us in a temporary present, but I know us in a permanent forever. I take in all the yous I have known and anticipate the countless ways you will continue to surprise and inspire me. Lining up all the memories of us, I know that the differences between them are not what I should focus on, but the similarities. Throughout this journey, you will always be with me. We will always be together. Deep breath. Tight grip. Another step.
Exhale.
Don't forget to subscribe!