Stopping by
Sumaiyah Hossain
Many times do we come across souls that seem aged and young,
wise and still learning, full of life and still searching.
Sometimes they are us, and sometimes they are others.
They walk through woods of which we all scavenge through,
looking for a momentary repose, a lifetime breath.
And there do we happen to intersect.
How many seasons can pass, how many mornings and nights,
before we’ve grown close enough to evade the reality
that our moments must end?
And now that this end has arrived to whisk you away, I fail
to grasp the time missed between hidden hours that we each filled
dreaming of our new adventures, our new creations.
For as lovely and endless as these woods are, who but our own selves
can tie us to complacency? Where we now stand, our paths diverge,
and I watch you begin a trek towards another moment,
searching for another breath.
With each step you take, you imprint upon the mud
a small, empty well, and every morning since then I hear it echo,
“I was here. I lived. I laughed. I grieved. I learned. I made something. Please do not forget me.”