Caused by time. Our numerous lives collide like particles in a perpetual hurry, a pinprick of a second when multiple trajectories intersect. This one sputter, cough in time, hangs and suspends like outwards-fanning nylon threads. Stretches into a formless semblance of eternity. Within this finite eternity contains the ricocheting echo of laughter, clatter and clutter of footsteps, playful side-eyes, rivers of tears. But time loves to ebb, to flow. And now, like rivers leading to tributaries we slowly--but surely--diverge. The process is arduous and stringent, but time guarantees it in blood. And god, I feel like a boat caught in the current. The change starts small, of course. Mutations. Changes on genetic levels. We hardly notice them, of course. That's the course that time loves to take, it's the catch to being alive: you never realise it until it's too late to turn back. And by the time these changes have morphed, eroded the people you were before, it will be like looking at the sun and expecting to see the moon. You will have evolved into disparate species. And then you wonder if you'd ever known them to begin with. Or if you'd ever known yourself. You sit on the boat in the current, turn back wistfully to gaze upon the path travelled, seeing it all ebb away from you. Not being able to change the tides. In six months you'll all be hacking away at the cavern walls in different directions. Who knows--in ten years your minds may might be on different sides of the planet, a huff of memory and recognition barely registering on your mind as you pass them on a street.
YOU ARE READING
Stagnant
General Fiction[ collection of things that never really fit, short stories, poems, whatevers ] Things that could be so much more, and yet churned to a stop.
