We had barely spoken in months; yet I
see you almost every day.
Today you were sitting across the room with your friends, as
usual, but you seemed a bit more distressed than you typically
are. At one point you left for a bit to talk on the phone. And
when you sat down again you seemed a bit quieter, a bit more
distant. I kept studying my psychology worksheet, glossing over
words: "An introvert is reserved, less sociable,
withdrawn, quiet, solitary, needs time alone to recharge,
concerned with own thoughts and experiences, more shy,
anxious..." They seemed to tell a story almost, one that I
used to live out again and again and again with you, as if I
kept re-reading the same old storybook even though I already
knew its ending - and its ending was always quite a cruddy one.
But I used to love it anyway. Something about it. Something
about you. After reading that sentence I looked up towards
where you were seated. In one of those rare moments you were
already looking at me - perhaps somewhere behind me, really,
because you never seemed to acknowledge my existence anyway -
and without words I could see it in your green eyes. You were broken. I
wasn't the one that broke you, and in that moment it
wasn't that you broke yourself - you were just broken.
Lost. A little afraid, maybe, whether you'd admit it or
not. In that moment I just wanted you to be okay. And in that
moment it hit me that time is a linear thing, as odd as it is.
There's no going backward through anything in life. Only
forward. One-way street style. And it also hit me that someday
would come where it would be the last time I would ever see
you, be it in a year or in fifty, but there would definitely be
a last time. That time wasn't today. It wasn't months
ago, although I wouldn't really have cared if it was, or at
least I don't care now... but whether I care or not, it
doesn't matter, because in those few seconds, in that
moment, I had you. Or maybe I didn't. But you're here.
And I don't love you, and you don't care whether I love
you or not - but whether you care or not, it doesn't
matter, because I know that time is probably one of the most
priceless things in this world, as it can only be spent once.
One-way street style. And I might totally dislike you, almost
everything about you, all of these things that you did, all of
these foolish ways that you spent your time - but seeing as we
probably only have little left together, right now, I may as
well learn to love it again. Because even if I know how the
storybook ends, I know that there's something special about
these pages - and if I'm going to be stuck reading the
story even one more time, even if only for a moment, I may as
well love it. Love the time. Spend it well. Always
love. ♥
