Last Day of Winter

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Collette rather wondered what had happened to the time and everyone over the past several years. There was a point not too long in the past, she thought, that they had all known each other, had spoken weekly, had seen what had happened to one another, practically daily. Three times a week, or more, she had seen her friends and often there were bits aside from the usual choir, philosophy, and dancing… when she had been around her old pals and acquaintances. And now, as she looked at things, there were letters back and forth. But she never saw anyone anymore. Perhaps it was all for the best, really. There was a little hurt in seeing people change. It was different in letters. People rarely changed in them. Their writing stayed the same over time in how they described the details of life and the thoughts that went through their minds. But in person, there was always a change, for the good or for the worse. And somehow Collette would rather hear about their lives over paper than from themselves directly. There were many she would rarely see again, if ever. And time did such things to people. She knew it, and wouldn’t argue it. After all, it was meant to happen. How could it not. If one stayed trapped in the same period of time forever, it would be an uncanny sort of living and even if it were possible, there would be no guarantee she could ever really enjoy it. In fact, she knew that she wouldn’t. She preferred the memories they offered. And in time, many would fade. But she would remember them in her writings and in pictures, and in the tales from family and when the old friends did cross her path. Then, she would remember and laugh over old times. And there was the comfort that she would meet them all again, most anyway. And those she wouldn’t, she would not think of. For perhaps, she would never really know, until then, who they might be.