I remembered that this was a vision- though a part of me felt that it may have been real- that the man who spoke in riddles had precipitated.
It was the flash of her eyes that instantaneously caused an unconscious part of me to again feel her peering down at me from atop the train tunnel; calling me to start the climb again.
She looked so different that I hadn’t recognized what was right in front of me for those hours- but I allowed myself to entertain that possibly it was her.

I heard a crow calling in the distance.

It called of a peculiar voice, which looking around was nowhere to be found.
I had thought a thousand times before throughout the ages that I had caught sight of the face of familiarity in the crowd; I had many times met eyes of affinity, or a foreign voice so intrinsically amicable, but never would permit myself to believe in the silly tales of fantastically wishful fates.

Had she died and lived in the number and manners as I had? Was this the past, present, that yet to pass, or a projection of the uncontrolled, loneliest fragment of my imagination?                          My throat began to tighten, my jaw tensed, and a wave of tormented grief washed over me; bringing with it a single drop of salt from my eyes. I had always spent my time running from the past- I couldn’t live there anymore. I couldn’t sleep away the today’s any longer. Everything she and those 13 years brought with them- that they undyingly carried of meaning- was dead, was it not?

I was dead.

I looked back at her, with new eyes to discern. I remembered how the sun had always found her copper tresses, but she would always find the most torrential deluge. I remembered the scars that decorated her chest; I could see that they had extended their grip about her. I remembered when we had once thought that something in the universe was finally on our side and the tentatively silly Magic that kept us always looking for it.

Yet that was all before;

I again surveyed the scarred vine running alongside her neck.

Before the climb; before the journey called; before the world; the life, the loss; burden, death, age, and preceding the violent awakening to a reality of an imminently wearing, withering attrition. If she had been able to see me- of which I still was uncertain if she was still even out there, anywhere- I would likely feel this same crushing, mournful shame at my now dwindling world- to the degradation of the very soul I remember being. I revisited wondering of where or who she had herself ended up becoming.

I wanted to try to enjoy the moment, but my mind never had been easily subdued in regards to the loss of everything I ever had, or thought I loved. This was just an illusion- an illusion of Time’s, wasn’t it? Time had taken more than just love from me- Time had taken all of me; of something seemingly irretrievable through the countless years I had strived to put the shards back together, in hopes of things ever being even close to the same. Yet  I had done everything In my power to try to save the pieces-

Hadn’t I?


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