Riverbank

Part I: When Did I Leave

I always walked alongside the riverbank of time, wondering when it would end for me.

I know this started when I was nine years old.

Trauma has a strange way of making a child erase memories just to survive.

And because of that, I never wanted companions for the trip.

For reasons I believed were noble, though others would probably disagree, I convinced myself my path would always be short.

So I pushed people away.

Then I met you.

In my mind, I knew I should have done the same with you, but my heart would not allow it.

For some reason, every logical explanation I had prepared collapsed against one simple truth.

I love you.

After all those years spent running alongside the riverbank, I finally felt the need to slow down and look at the scenery.

You were there.

If someone dug up a time capsule from our nights together, it would smell like the sea breeze and leave them longing for something they could not name.

Then I realized it.

We had met at the same riverbank.

I thought I was the only one running with that kind of desperation, but you were sprinting too.

And just when I decided to slow down, you were already up and ahead of me again.

Back to running.

I panicked.

Because you were running at the pace I had lived my entire life.

I needed to catch up.

So without any regard for myself, or the obstacles in front of me, I ran as hard as I possibly could until I saw you again.

Then I slammed on the brakes.

You looked surprised to see me.

Like nobody had ever followed you that far before.

You asked me what I was doing there.

You told me:

“Everyone always leaves.”

Part of me wanted to say ‘you literally left’

But instead, I told you:

“I won’t.”

By the next morning, you were already running again.

And the moment I woke up, I started chasing after you too.

Determined to prove that I would not give up on you.