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Time is but memory in the making.
He has made peace with the idea that part of life is facing your failures, and sometimes those failures are people you once loved.
Nostalgia is as much an analgesic for him as alcohol.
It is the lonely hour of the night, one with which he is all too familiar—when the city sleeps but you don’t, and all the regrets of your life rage in your mind with an unbearable intensity.
Me staring at the ceiling in the dark at 3am lol
he thinks perhaps there’s a reason our memories are kept hazy and out of focus. Maybe their abstraction serves as an anesthetic, a buffer protecting us from the agony of time and all that it steals and erases.
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“Time is an illusion, a construct made out of human memory. There’s no such thing as the past, the present, or the future. It’s all happening now.”
We are homesick most for the places we have never known.
He has wondered lately if that’s all living really is—one long goodbye to those we love.
wow...... lmk next time before you throw the brick at me!!
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This relationship was meant for a specific time, and no longer.
Oof
she wonders if this is what feeling old really means—not just a physical deterioration, but an interpersonal. A growing silence caused by the people you most love, who have shaped you and defined your world, going on ahead into whatever comes after.
“You want to do this without me?” “No. I want to breathe the same air as you every minute of every day of my life, no matter how many timelines I live.
“My soul knows your soul. In any time.”
Perhaps memory is fundamental, the thing from which time emerges.
The ache of the memory is gone, but he doesn’t begrudge its visitation. He’s lived long enough to know that the memory hurt because many years ago, in a dead timeline, he experienced a perfect moment.
Life with a cheat code isn’t life. Our existence isn’t something to be engineered or optimized for the avoidance of pain. That’s what it is to be human—the beauty and the pain, each meaningless without the other.
