The flight’s landed twenty minutes prior to its promise and I can smell last night’s forecast lazing around in the air as I wake up from my much needed, eight o’clock nap. I still don’t care much about how my hair looks after the heavenly slumber treat and trust my French braid to make me look stylish enough to pass off as today’s fashion. But, I subconsciously carry a comb in my bag because Ma liked to redo my hair and part it on the left as, I swung my legs three inches above the floor. I can feel a sting even today just at the memory. Especially today.
To my dearest,
How are you?
Well, I hope?
Time is a funny thing, isn’t it? A language of its own; an emotion without boundaries. Somehow, they’re not just a part of you but, they make us too. And yet, we can’t have time ever… Have you ever wanted to catch time and hold on to it for just a bit more time? Like catching a butterfly on a summer afternoon?
Alas. Time is something that’s always there yet never ours.
Say, remember that impromptu drive to the mountains? Remember how the twilight wrapped us in an infinity as the sun set?
“Life always gives us moments. One, two, three… infinite, really. Life’s a box of moments. Life’s a box of infinities.”