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Rated: 13+ · Prose · Experience · #2148388
A brief foray into the loss of the life you are living, shedding it to have a new life.

You know where the sky meets the land at the top of the world? Where the clouds kiss the mountains
and the thin air takes your breath away like love used to? Where trees race the mountains to meet the

I go there now to forget.

I escape there now to find a little tiny corner of peace. To forget about the mistakes I made what
seemed like a lifetime ago. I sit here on the precipice of my choices and the edge of land watching the
sun convene with the horizon. At the end of another day, what seems like a meaningless
measurement of time. It will occur again when the sun peaks out on the other side of the earth in a
few more cycles of this cyclical period.

I’ll be in a sea of people, passing like ships filled with voyages I may never hear about.
The people they’ve met, that they lusted for, that scarred their souls and jaded them. Each day they
wake, and carry on, almost loyal to the quantification of their time. Loyal to the rules set by the
passing second, minute, hour - wake, work, sleep, repeat. Carry on despite everything else, failing,
burning, growing and being born beyond them.

Yet, here I sit, no longer bound by time.

I can take that moment, that I would have otherwise lost, to notice the reflections of the sky in the
windows of the glass giants. I can lay in the grass, wet from the weather, letting it kiss my skin. As a slight
breeze passes over the blades, it swept over me like your fingertips used to. I’ll greet the sunrise in a
similar fashion, but it’ll be missing the smell of tobacco and sweat.

It’ll be missing that awkward silence of the moments in between figuring out how we fit together.

All of this is fine, I’m used to losing things, people, moments, I’m used to losing time. Now, however,
it’s all I have. I’ll lay here and watch the leaves bend against the wind, thinking of all the times I bent
my will to serve someone else. I’ll watch the still waters of the lake, reflecting everything back onto
the world, like whispers between ears of what happened - when, where, what, why.

All I have is time.
© Copyright 2018 Charlie Manias (charliemanias at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2148388