Contemplating the end of a grand journey; life but a series of undulations. Emerging through the dark depths for a chance at grandeur, successive failures pulling one down to a silent morose once again.

Beacons of life and light, those that exude an aura for you and you alone. Smiles and chuckles during the joyous times, a direct and powerful concern when a forlorn melancholy overtakes you.

Around you but not with you, indirect ties bind but only implicitly. A few words only needed to cement a soulful connection.

A comfortable state settles, time seems irrelevant. Peace surrounds, but lurking is the end of these times. Ticking clocks build up: one, then many. Slowly a realization comes; you begin to descend.

They stay there with you; subconsciously inhibited you cry not. They drift away even as you could extend your arm: inaction gives way to a torment like no other. Even next to them, two realities divide you; they begin to dissipate.

That whom you felt for, forever gone.

That which never was,

That which never will be.

You slip, the dark fog.

Lost. Only in memories they remain.

A/N: My first submission to FictionPress. I'll be adding some other stuff up. I don't usually do prose, so please critique my style.

Thank you,

A. Kazmarov