Already Remember
This won’t last. I know that.
Yunior Rivas
It’ll come back to you half-formed, warped by distance and time. A snapshot of something you used to call mine.
You’ll reach for it like a hand outstretched in the dark, always just out of grasp. More shadow than substance, more echo than clarity.
But right now, you’re still living it. Every detail feels sharper, more vivid, as if it’s begging to be noticed.
You try to memorize it all, but the moment pushes back, crumbling into something you’ll never hold the same way again.
This moment, right here, will haunt you forever. You already know that. It’s vanishing even now, and you’re powerless to stop it. It’s almost unbearable, the weight of impermanence.
One day you’ll replay it, over and over, trying to stitch together what’s left, but it’ll be scattered. A splintered mosaic of something you cherished.