Some days you cross the street, and think of nothing but the onslaught of traffic coming your way. You try to bend your own path to let them whiz past yourself, as they disappear into the wind like forgotten memories.

Then, there are days when you stop yourself from crossing that line. When your steps are large and forceful, your body fighting against the odds, trying to catch the moments you knew you will never get back.

But then you catch them across that very street, making their own memories. Holding hands by your bench, laughing by your favorite tree. Kissing by the same fountain.

But, that’s just it, isn’t it?
It’s not yours anymore. Nothing ever really was.

And you don’t mind; you don’t care. Slowly but suddenly, you turn away from the light, you step away from the line and let what was once yours be someone else’s.

There’s a twisted sort of happiness that you get out of it, a high you can’t decipher. Because it’s something you can only feel with them; being free and bounded at the same time.
You’re a borrower. It never belonged to you- it was loaned. Handed to you for keepsake until its place was found.

It’s cruel- to be shown a sliver of forever and having it snatched away. It hurts to even think of it. You ache all over, thinking it’ll pass just as everything does.

And so, you stay.

You stay for the sake of knowing how you’ll be at the other side; miserable and alone. The fear keeps you prisoner- until your soul breaks in half. And then, you flee. You run for your life, you run as if you’ll never do it again.

Time passes, and so do you. You pass that familiar street everyday, hoping to somehow get lost in its cold embrace. To forget what you still remember.

Until, one day, you do.

One day, where it doesn’t matter, anymore.
Where the past is just the past and the people are just people, crossing the street for the sake of crossing it.

Running into them, it isn’t the shock you thought it would be. You smile at one another; hesitant but warm. You ask about their day, and them yours. Casual pleasantries turn to a bittersweet goodbye, and you walk past one another. With nothing but unvoiced questions.

Does he still listen to that awful metal stuff?
Does he still sleep with his mouth open?
Does he still think of me?

You don’t know, and you remind yourself you shouldn’t. But come tomorrow, you walk past the same memories, the same questions. Day in and day out, you realize how somethings never leave, even if they don’t matter.

That’s when you realize, just how easy it is to lose yourself in a place you know you’ll always be found.

~Simran Khurana


8 thoughts on “Crossroads

  1. I haven’t read anything this astounding, in a simpler way. Your endings are my favorite part; they never not amaze me. ❤️


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