The sun slowly transformed into a dim orange circle about to illuminate another part of the world. The comforting feeling of night began to fold around us like a soft blanket—perhaps one forgotten in the car, but better than nothing. The ground was shifting under our feet. The impending change was so close that I could smell the uncertainty when the breeze picked up. The same when we could smell cookies who’s trained. The world so over developed, each building built was bigger, better, and nicer. The new structures loomed over their inferior and recent ancestors.
“Everyday can be anything,” he said to me. His eyes looked at the sky, as mine just did. “Some days are just as I planned them, but other’s, the train is off the rails the second I get out of bed. Sometimes before,” Zack continued.
His words held more meaning behind them; I knew that I was just attempting to figure out what they were. Then, after a minute perhaps too long, I said, “That’s life. I realized recently that each day is an opportunity to exist forever,” I pause for a moment taking him in, wishing he would look at me.
“How can a day exist forever?”
He finally looks at me. His brown eyes still care, I can tell. He furrows his eyebrows, and with his lips in a flat line he says, “How can a day exist forever?”
“In the same was a story in a book can. Once something belongs to the imagination, it is infinite.”
He smiles. “Stories can be any size, but they always matter to someone,” Zack added. “Focusing can be hard for me. Life moves all around, and at times need to step away so I can create other lived, factious ones but the decline to do this is how I live.” Zack explains this to me not even close to the first time, but I feel like he’s taking to himself, this time, more than me..
“I’ve must of heard the expression, time heals all wounds, a hundred times. And, it’s true. I see that now. But, not in the sense that our pain goes away. I don’t believe it ever truly does. The pain isn’t always in a the state of raw emotion and mountains of incredible size surrounding you. Human’s adapt. That’s what we do, so when we lose someone that absence and the pain that come with it becomes part of our life,” I said this then looked away, focusing on the sky, something bigger than me, which brings some comfort.
“Transitions,” is all he said.
“It’s called living,” I added.
“Is that your way telling me to accept this?” The hurt in his voice convinces me.
“Pretty much.” I took a step back then, getting ready to leave, to put this small little reality away for now.