The Art of Getting By

Another day, another sunrise. I watch the hours pass. I know they’re passing. Days bleed into one another and I have no idea where all this time is going. I have a hard time feeling a sense of loss.

I read a book I had abandoned midway- I lost track- and I find my page again. I read on. It still reminds me of you. You bleed into my imagination, from the permeable membranes of my memory into a future I am creating. Then I wake up. Then I remember. Reality is a jolt that brings me out from under my covers. I close the book and leave it aside again. I get by, but there are places I can’t revisit. At least, not yet. I’ll try again tomorrow.

The thoughts follow me as I walk through my apartment. We wouldn’t be the same people, not exactly a blank slate, but the fact that we are different, the fact that we have lived in different places… It changes a person. So would we make the same mistakes? Could we forget the old ones?

I’d like to know there is an answer to this uncertainty that floats above my head.

July 2013 is a distant, distant memory. I’m not even sure it existed.

From August to August and the months that followed, there is a world… A world to separate me from the people that we were, that we used to be. I’m not even me anymore. I’m scared that you’re not you. I know your cells have changed, I’m acutely aware of their turnover; technically you’re no longer yourself. You’re a stranger again. You couldn’t say “You know me” the way you once said it. It wouldn’t be true.

But we’re still these people. If time is relative then this moment goes on forever. We, the people we are, are just not in that place anymore.

From August to November, from one year to another, I’ve kept busy. I focused on growing into someone else and learning to be a better person, I tried my best to wave your memory, to make the fantasies vanish with a good dose of present time… of daily reality. I drank it like coffee; hoping to wake up.

I’ve kept busy. I’ve also waited. Things were just not the same.

And now… Now you’re here, and I don’t know what it means. It’d be easier to think it doesn’t mean anything… but it does. Somehow. When I walk around this city I wonder if your steps were here before, and it feels as if you’ve left a trail that is still warm, just under my feet. But we walk different tracks, it’s never more obvious as when I think like that, and our tracks lie parallel to each other, never meeting, never crossing, never sharing the same point.

Maybe someday. Somewhere. Who knows.

Until then, I get by, and I know you do too.

Image source 1: Katja Presnal, at
Image source 2:

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