Time
We walked outside, where there were no walls, nothing that could separate us. The air around us was cool, the breeze reminded me of the way your hair would triumph against all odds, refusing to remain still. The calmness of your voice kept me rooted. You called my name, hesitating, not sure if you still recognized me, if I was the same person. It’s strange what time does to people. We grow older, change our looks, our eyes grow sadder, more distant. My eyes had changed, you said. They were different. I tried to tell you that I was still me, that even though time had taken its toll, and we had separated for what seemed like an eternity, I was still rooted.
“But I’m a realist. I’m practical. People change,” you argued.
“I am a realist too. Realistically speaking, I can’t forget you,” I responded.
“You weren’t this emotional years ago, but madri, ” you replied.
“That’s because I was a robot. Dead. A machine. You breathed life into me, and now I can’t go back to anything less than you.” I said it as simply as that. Or maybe I thought I said it. Maybe I didn’t have the courage to say it.
And I know you know, that no matter what time has done, the damage, the scars, the long confusing nights, the wrath of Karma, the broken rules, the promises not kept- I am still rooted deeply in you. And perhaps I can only write these words. I was more courageous when I was younger. Today, I am afraid of time. And yet, I am more afraid that you don’t know that I am afraid of losing you, for the hundredth time.

