The wind was dancing around the building, and I'd swear I could hear it singing. Such a sad song of change, before the melody died. You're doing something, probably important, but maybe not. And I'm just standing here, staring dolefully out the window at a dumpster in the alley beneath me. The wind picks up the lids of two trash cans and carries them away with it, still singing of change. Papers, discarded tests most likely, dance into the air, to join with the whirls of snow. You're off being important, and I'm merely here thinking of how tragically poetic the entire world seems to be right now.

Nothing lasts forever.

Driving, and the lanes of oncoming traffic momentarily appeared to become a raceway, as the headlights of the cars flew past us. We weren't even going 20 above the speed limit, and yet they were the ones speeding by. Or maybe it's all relative. Maybe to them, we were the daredevils flying through the night on the paved ground. Maybe, to them, we were the wild and reckless ones. But we aren't- not us. In that moment, though, as I looked out over the city, I wanted to say something. Anything. The spots of light- streetlights, house lights, car lights- all stuck out in the dark blue of the night sky. And I, I wanted to ask. Ask if you were afraid. Ask if you wanted to leave. But I already knew your answer, and I didn't want to hear it.
I don't want you to leave. I may have, at one point. Actually, I used to pray for the day that you would. But I'm different now, and I only want for you to stay. I know that you can't. And I know that even should I ask, you wouldn't. This is your moment, not mine, and I won't try to take it from you. But how I wish you wouldn't leave.

Wishes don't come true.

You're bringing me home, but neither of us wants to be there. We'd rather go on an adventure, do something different. We live in routine, and crave change. You're getting yours, and I'm afraid of mine. I wish I knew how you felt about it. This seems so unfair, but the world is beautiful in its sorrow. I suppose I am in mine, too, but I don't want to cry. I'd rather smile, pretend that I'm happy about this. You'll go off to make a future, and I'll sit here dwelling on the past.
The residential streets are empty, save a white plastic bag tumbling across the street. I wait for your car to hit it, but another gust of wind picks it up to carry it away. Another sad song of change, and I shiver- from what, I can't be sure. It's cold, yes; it's the middle of January. But I think it's the uncertainty that's getting to me. I think it's the fear.
These jokes feel so empty as we exchange harsh words to each other, all the while laughing because neither of us is serious. How much longer will this last? These nights spent in your car, talking about everything and anything. When will the inevitable change come?

Nothing lasts forever.
I know this won't- this can't- last. I wish that it would.
Wishes don't come true.
No. I won't make any more wishes. I'll let go of false hope and embrace the change.
I'll miss you, though, when you go off to find yourself. Please be careful. Take care of yourself, and if you ever feel like looking back on the past, I'll still be there, waiting for you.