dabbling in reverie

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment

I feel like one of those prehistoric bugs trapped in amber. My wings are frozen in flight and I'm using every ounce of energy I have to move forward, but it's a useless battle. And time just scares me. It's as if with every passing hour, minute, second the distance from the time where we were stretches even thinner and I know that eventually the fraying thread that connects us could snap. And like with many beautiful memories we'll be swept along the river of time, flowing downstream and barely fighting against the current until we wind up collecting in the pool of hazy shadows that swirl and blend everything into a foggy past. We'll slip from what was real to what is nostalgia. Our brief time and story will sit untouched on a shelf, collecting dust, its pages yellowing and curling in on themselves with age. Little reminders working like portals will pull us back for the briefest of moment, for a moment lifting the layer of grime and we'll smile and think remember when.

But that's the funny thing about destiny, it happens whether you plan it or not. I mean, I never thought I'd see that girl again, but it turns out I was just too close to the puzzle to see the picture that it was forming. Because that, kids, is the true story story of how I met your Aunt Robin.