Time flows on, swift as a stream and silent as the night. It pitter-patters on, both day and night, like rain on the rooftop, striking a soft, steady beat that cannot be heard, only felt. Through these passages of time, our bodies age, our minds grow; we change, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. In the end, there are few things, such as memories, that can ever remain the same, unaffected by the strong currents of time. Though some memories may fade into the background, lost in the raging storm of our minds, there will always be those that burn, bright and long, and eternal, fiery flame.
There are firsts for everything, first breath, first step, first friend. Angel was one of those firsts for me. We met at a church, both the same age. Almost instantly, we became friends, one of those friends that was inseparable and everyone knew about. She helped me uncover much about myself, found a way for me to be careless and free, youthful. When I was around her, I never found myself shying away, retreating within myself, I felt like I would with a sister. And a sister was all I ever wanted. She was my lifeline that tied me into a larger group and a whole. These feelings, this person, cannot just vanish, so she stays, finding a way to live through me.
I do not know who I would be without her, without these bittersweet memories. All I know is that I without her I would be a different person. And our friendship was fleeting as she packed her bags and moved, away from here, away from me. I have seen her only once since, tall and beautiful, yet unrecognizable. I never got her contact information before she was gone, before I was gone. We never had the chance. Or maybe we did. It haunts me that we had a chance and we lost it. What would you say to a person you have not seen in a decade?
Though we only had a year or two together, I like to think our friendship lasts beyond. We may not have talked again or seen each other in a long time, but I know our friendship is still there, somehow, spanning the distance.
I saw her once again, just once after she left, and I will never remember her as such. In my mind, she will is preserved in her four-year-old form, never aging, never changing. Together, we are captured like photographs in a time that has long since passed. Whenever I look back, straining to catch a glimpse of the past that has veiled itself in a thick wooly fog, I see a small snapshot of us together, her in her pale white dress, bounding toward me through the leafy, green leaves of the beautiful summer trees. Her smile glints beautifully. Time will never blow her away. It will never blow us away.