Time keeps us apart. The space between us seems to push us further apart each month, as time forgets what I can not. The traditions are as steadfast as the mountains we gather on every three years. Still, I know you will come again, and compared to the span of a lifetime, the time until you next come seems trivial. It doesn’t feel that way, though.
The triennial gathering and trading mean everything to my people. Yours too, I would assume. To me, it means a chance to be seen and known only by what I choose to say, not by how I look. The masks we wear free me. It’s not hiding. It’s showing what’s most important.
Still, I do almost…. No, I don’t wish we could see each other’s faces. I like it the way it is.
I think about the things we’ve said more every time I remember you. And yes, I must admit I do forget. It’s only natural. Life here doesn’t really include you most of the time. Forgetting. It’s such an interesting thing to ponder.
You can forget me, as long as you remember again. We’ll find each other next Gathering, and we’ll sit on the cliff and talk again. Even if time divides us, it’s passing. We’re slipping past it, not even realizing, and we come closer to…. To everything. Everything that will come, everything that will happen to us--we’re moving closer, but I don’t know if it’s us moving or something else.
Remember me as time goes by. Most importantly, remember that you have a part of me, a part you can never give back. Take care of it for me.
Author Notes: I think the mood of this shifted halfway through. If any of you see a sentence that could be better, or more clear, please tell me!
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United States • 21 years old