What Could've been

Sometimes I wish that we could know for a fact that there was no going back,
that the paths we chose not to take, the rocks we didn't overturn
would remain shrouded in mystery forever, such that
those whispers of what could've been wouldn't be relevant.

It's a terrible habit to continuously look back at the choices you've made,
and wondered if it's the right one.

When all we really should do is be steadfast in our chosen direction, and work with the world we've nurtured for ourselves.

It's finished.

Every so often I have this identity crisis.
It occurs whenever a significant hurdle has been completed.

To find that the nemesis which defined you for so long has been vanquished,
it leaves a void.

Where you were once so accustomed to the next page of your story simply being a continuation of the last,

all of a sudden, it's a new chapter.

And so begins the desperate search for something new.

You still recognize me

What a difference a few weeks, months, years can make.
How different we become without really realizing it.
How foreign we are to what we are now and who we were.

Life winds its convoluted way through time and space, junctions form in the most seemingly random places
and yet they couldn't have been any more perfect.

An old acquaintance, long written off.
A quotation, long forgotten.
A feeling, long lost.

Something reminds you of who you were.
Pulling yourself out of the present and onto a higher plain,
gazing at where you've been and what you've learned and what you've become.

Seeing where you've gone astray and lost your way.

All because someone still recognized you.

Forgetting

It seems that the older I get, the more broken I become.
But it's because I keep forgetting everything,
the lessons we've learned in our youth, the experiences that we've carried with us all these years.

I've let them go too easily, and now I'm finding myself reaching out for them again.

Begging for them to come back.

So this is what we've become.

We went through the motions most unexpectedly.
How did we even begin? It was so natural, so spontaneous.
You were a girl shrouded in mystery.
Separated by distance and time, two backgrounds that never were meant to meet.

But you're right. We did okay didn't we?
Sparked something without any physical interaction,
the late night talks, the little scribbles we sent the old fashioned way.

We went through the motions of love, but never truly attained it.
Somewhere along the way, what we had was drowned by all the noise of the world.

But you remember, and so do I.

I don't linger on what could've been, what would've been, but that doesn't mean I don't get the subtle hints you leave. The rare times you reach back out to me, almost as if nothing and everything has happened.

You've never let me close this door for you. Pushing me to the sidelines, making me solely an observer.
And I see you slowly crack beneath the surface.

Let me in. Let us resolve this once and for all.

So that you can move on, find someone more suitable and someday think back on us as just another sweet memory of youthful fascination and endearment.

In and Out

It must be lonely being an airport.
People moving through you,
sticking around for as long as necessary before moving on.
To all, you are a gateway home or to the world beyond.

You see everything. Joy and sorrow, tears and laughter.
Families parting, couples breaking, friends greeting and people grieving.
To be able to encompass so much and observe with such depth into the intricacies of humanity,
but not be appreciated enough for anyone to willingly stay.

Such tragedy, but life feels like that often doesn't it?

People coming by, paths crossing briefly, sharing in some of the more intimate details and moments of their lives, and then watching them move on.

But no matter how many times that happens, you can never lose the feeling that the next one that comes by, might just be the one.