We write our story on water.
Nary a photo to immortalize any moment. No souvenirs to mark the milestones.
No traces. No prints. Nothing to burn, or discard or donate when all this mess is over. No ashes to clean up. The world shall turn still, business as usual. When it ends, it’s as if it was all in my head. Just memories of a distant past life, so hazy it seems like it was all imagined.
Just a story for the books, an idea to fuel poetry and art. Just fiction. When it ends, its like it never happened.
Only…
It did.
