You set up camp at a bus stop, watching the throngs of people come and go, waiting for a carriage to whisk you away. It never arrives.
You will yearn for your lost innocence, like Orpheus at the gates of death, given one chance to regain your spark. under one condition - don’t look back. You will fail.
You will await each summer, paint it as a rebirth. As the palette shifts from golden hues, to copper and crimson, you are frozen in time.
You will put your life in the hands of preordained divine timing, yet a stopwatch is buried in your left pocket, ticking away. A heartbeat passes and everything is right, another comes and everything is real.
You will catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and see a familiar stranger.
You will realize, never again will the summer feel sunset-tinged, glowing gold. The honeysuckle growing outside smells saccharine, feels insincere.
Nothing is sweet forever.
Nothing will be the same.