Why must it seem as if time is just crawling by, as if each grain of sand falls individually, and all other grains in the glass must wait to fall until the one falling finally lands? And there are so many grains of sand waiting to fall, more than what you will find on the beach, at least so it seems.
Perspective is everything.
It’s November now. Two more months and it will be a whole year since I foolishly let go of the girl of my dreams. Two more months until I can no longer say “A year ago we were doing this…” because nothing good has come after that foundation-shaking day at least between the two of us. Now I’m waiting for the hourglass to empty, for the final grain of sand to fall, to indicate the day when the memory of you fails to break the barrier between past and present, when I might find true, lasting Love.
But the sand falls too slowly…
I rarely hear anything about you any more. I still talk to your one friend on the other side of the country and every once in a while she’ll mention you, but it’s usually only when you piss her off. You two always seem to be fighting these days. I hate that second-hand reflection that crushes my hopes that you have grown. Indeed I want you to be happy, but I fear that you have deliberately stunted your growth because of the effort required to sustain it.
I still pray for you regularly.
I haven’t seen you in person since the end of July. I haven’t spoken to you since the middle of September. Those moments seem so much further away than they actually are. I’m constantly fighting depression — struggling to keep my head above the water as if a sea monster has a hold of my leg and is trying to drag me under. I still don’t now how I’ve held on this long.
But the beast is relentless.
I have such a passionate heart and a romantic perspective, but I no longer have an outlet for my heart and mind except through my writing that only strangers will ever see. My love for you helps neither of us because of the nature of that love. Wrong time. Wrong place. Probably wrong person. *sigh* Yet you refuse to leave my mind, even though you reject my attempt at a second chance. So I’m stuck staring at this hourglass, counting the grains as they are released.
The glass is still too full.