Short stories from the street 1

 

The past is a small island which we sail slowly away from.  At first we’re excited by this uncharted journey and care not about the growing distance between ourselves and it, this strange land, as our eyes are fixed ever forwards upon a distant horizon to come.

Yet, unseen, behind us, we fail to see that this island, this world is fading into a fog called time.  Forever lost to us and to our grasping fingers - which soon will yearn for its slightest touch.

We can never go back to this land growing dark under a setting sun, we know this, yet it does not stop our minds from attempting this journey.  Retracing footsteps back to the times when we were happy and content, or at least to a time in which we thought we were.

But it’s gone, this island, this world, the light on this sunlit past is set and nothing lives there now so we turn back to face the uncharted journey with eyes fixed forwards upon a distant horizon to come.

 

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