It’s past midnight. The harsh red numbers on my alarm clock are blurry, the house still save for the tick-tick-ticking of the clock and my own sighs.
It’s past midnight and my mind is careening off into the infinite. Overthinking was always a weakness for me. It’s funny how even though my head sags with fatigue, my mind is galloping in technicolor.
It’s past midnight and all I can think about is that girl I knew from elementary and middle school. I heard that she has a baby now, and she’s only a year older than me. I remember her curly hair and her big brown eyes and dimpled smile and I hope she’s doing well. I think about a boy in second grade that I used to run around the playground with. He had hair the exact color of honey, shining brown eyes, and flushed cheeks. I wonder how he’s doing.
It’s past midnight and I think about the lives that have intersected with mine before we parted ways. I think about you -- how close we used to be! We’d talked about going to prom as a group and staying friends forever, about going to the same universities and (eep!) turning sixteen and going to the beach boardwalk. I look back in my mind’s eye and wonder where, exactly, the threads of our lives diverged. Now we’re on opposite sides of the continent, separated by miles and miles. We don’t talk anymore.
It’s past midnight and I’m thinking about the woman who wrapped me in a blanket after we were in a car accident. I was five then, cold and my heart pounding, pounding. The air bit at my cheeks as I stood in the grass next to the winding road.
Her skin was smooth and brown, her brow furrowed with concern. “Don’t let that wind blow you away,” she’d said.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget her.
It’s past midnight and now I’m thinking about the lives that are running parallel with mine, running running running running --
-- and never meeting mine.
I think about you. I’ll never forget you, either, even if I’ve long since faded into the hidden recesses of your mind.
Do I miss you?
The red numbers blink. 1:47 AM.
Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. I wish I’d talked more, I wish I’d stood up to you. I can smell the scent of dirt and grass and dumplings in the pan and hear childish laughter and a dog barking and do you remember me? Do you remember me? Do you remember --
Suddenly it’s 2:14 and I think I’ll just go to sleep and not wake up until next Tuesday.
/
guess who finally came back and dusted off the ol' blog? also, i wrote this at an unhealthily late hour so please forgive the randomness.
updates are coming soon!
--grace
i'm grace