You stood across a
hallway, telling me
of times you regretted everything you've
never done, and how it kept you off
of the slippery brink of sanity. "You
tried?" I asked. You stalled and lost
my gaze and my gut wrenched at how
neurotic I must be if you, of all people,
wanted to go over the edge, too.
You spoke wisely however. "I want
to explore this Earth in the speck of time
I have left on it, whether she is with me,
or not." I don't know, I didn't know, and
probably never will know who "she" is,
but the way you mentioned her, like the
carcass of your childhood pet, was too
familiar. You lost her just like I lost him.
The sun dipped behind the omnipresent
clouds, as we allowed ourselves a moment
to reminisce about our better halves. All
too soon, we realized the other's existence.
Staring right through my eyes to the wall
behind me, you said softly, "Did you almost
try? Or you did, but it failed?" You knew the
answer, but I replied anyway. "The latter.
I failed abysmally." You exhaled a large
amount of breath I didn't witness you take in.
"It's still not worth it?" your voice suggested,
cryptically. I looked you in the eye for the first time.
"Most days. Other days, there are places I
have to go, to meet as many people as possible.
Maybe if I meet enough new people, I'll forget
about the person who made me want to…"
My voice choked off. You stood there a while,
with your back still towards the guarded sun,
until something seemed to hit you. "Me too,"
you whispered. I smiled genuinely for the first time
in three years. Hand in hand, we strolled out of
the door that was always there, out of that
hallway, out of that somber building of remorse,
and into the awaiting sunshine.