Like the passing of time and the changing of one day to the next, slowly, I forget- the memory diluting with each moment.
It feels almost like a mockery to what it was: how easily time diminishes its gravity, making it less and less real than it actually was. And then finally reducing it to a mere event of the past… like time does everything else. But it was real and I felt it. Deeply. Somehow it just doesn’t matter as much anymore and there are ruins I’ve yet to excavate, relics I have to preserve, and things to take care of.
I must not move on empty-handed. There was a reason for that experience and I must not forget. But somehow it just seems so distant now. Like it never happened. Sure, it opened doors for me, allowed me inside hallways I’ve never been to, but still my heart remains afar. It tires. It still desires the comfort of distance and the safety of less involvements.
For now I function. Do what I must. Do what I should. Let’s see how it goes.