The next couple of days, I anticipate, will be stressful. Already, I have spent 18+ hours in the library over the last two days and I still have one last paper to write. But it's not the workload or the studying that wearies me. It's the empty hours of sitting here, working, that I fear.
Why do I fear time? Why am I afraid of streams of consciousness?
It allows me time to think. Think about the past. Think about mistakes. Think about the future and where I will be in three weeks time and whether it will make a difference.
Two years ago, I was in Boston for a conference. There was love, there was rebellion, there was letting go. And there was tragedy. Still, that tragedy and that loss is overridden by the joy he brought me, the life he breathed into me as his lips pressed to mine, as his fingers squeezed mine, keeping them warm despite the bitter cold.
It's been almost two years. How I wish I could go back to that time. I want to stay in those moments forever.
I wonder if I can ever go back to it.
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