You whispered, "Anything is possible," into my ear, like a cool breeze on a winter's day. I smiled wanly at you, replying, "Maybe..." My voice drifted off on that note because I was reminded of something else.

You said, "No, really, I'm serious," with wide eyes that made me think of a puppy. Innocent. Naive. I laughed, a little laugh that I knew you would never understand. Never want to understand. You never will. This wasn't one of my usual laughs. I don't know why I'm even bothering to explain things now, but... I am. It was one of those laughs I suppose. The laugh that said, "Let's stop talking about this." You turned your head quizzically.

You pressed on, though. I thought of the childhood me, the me that believed that, too. That anything was possible. I thought of you, and how similar we were, the childhood me, and you. The you now, and the me, then. That's what attracted me to you, how similar we were, I think.

The sun's rays are streaming into my bedroom now. There's a glass of water and there's shimmering beams, casting little halos on the mundane things on my desk.

I think of you, and the way were were. When we were there. My brain goes back to those bygone days, now buried under new layers of memories. That memory used to be so sharp, so crystal clear. Now it's a distant blur. Maybe it was all a dream.

I find my journal, the journal that I recorded all my dreams, hopes, wishes for the future. The journal with a little  brown bear holding a bouquet of rainbow colored balloons, on the verge of floating away with the balloons. I had thought that the bear was going to run away with the balloons and that's why I bought it. I flip through that journal. Memories. Scribbles. Cross-outs. Doodles. My loopy scrawl that I tried to make neater but never actually improved. Those bygone days.

No comments

Post a Comment

© Crazy Red Pen
Maira Gall