The People We Used to Be − September, 2006

We left the concrete path and climbed onto some flat rocks to sit for a while. We could see the other students ambling along. To class, from class, they were all lost in the same bustling and uninspired gaits. The world turned around us while we rested on its invisible axis. We remained unchanged. Tangled weeds and vegetation threatened to overtake us. It was autumn, I think, with the wind just beginning to pick up that first chill. I could be wrong.

You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever known, perched atop your rock, the failing afternoon sun getting caught in your hair. You stood out vibrantly against the campus backdrop. The world was fuzzy where you were sharp and defined. I wish you could have seen yourself the way I did that day.

We etched our names in the stone. Mine is still there, where I'm gone. Do you see it, when you take him there? Can you still hear me speak? Or am I smoke, caught in the early autumn wind and carried away?