Grandmother, not my own, gently handed me the rice bowl, a soft smile I have never seen before on her now aging face appears, and she quietly whispers: "What are you running away from my child?"

Allowing the rice bowl to freefall and unable to contain the guilt, fear, shame, and trepidation that have held me hostage for so long I began sobbing uncontrollably.

"I know that I do not know, grandmother.".

As we sat there on grandmother's old wooden floor and watched the stars decorate the skies above I couldn't help but come to the earth-shattering realization, "Is that all?".
Perhaps it is.

She strides quietly towards the sun, the wind in her hair, a smile upon her face, she is free.
I see her today, young and zealous, hopeful and infatuated.
I love her today, fierce-hearted and ambitious, shy and warm.
I miss her today, lovely and passionate.

She is mine, and I am hers.
If not today, then tomorrow.
For tomorrow is forthcoming,
and our love eternal.

Photos of childhood friends have found their way to my desk tonight.
Puzzled, perplexed, and excruciatingly nostalgic I sifted through them, often tearing as I did.
"Where have the years gone?" I wondered, utterly stunned by the reckoning that what was once shall never again be.
One particular memory, that of my friends and I sharing in the wonderful vista of our childhood park, has ushered itself into my consciousness. I remember the dusk slowly covering the skies and ending our bond and with it, of course, my inevitable departure. I had not come to terms with the truth, although it has taken refuge deep within. I knew that night that the dusk has marked the end of an era after which my friends and I shall be but wraiths in a time that is no more.
I see their photos today, matured and cunning, and I wonder, "where had my childhood darlings gone?".
My childhood, that which has preceded my voyages abroad, has ended ever so abruptly, without warning or a hint. She has escaped me so gently, so conspicuously.

I so strongly miss sitting atop that grassy hill with my darlings, gazing at the dusky heavens and thinking the world was ours to command. I so strongly regret saying goodbye.

I so strongly regret never returning.
Perhaps it is I, now, the forgotten wraith in a time that is now, yet is no more.

Do you remember the past, truthful and unobscured?
Are your memories genuine, or are they jewels in a dead pirate's lost treasure chest?

When lying in bed just before disappearing into the void of night, do you remember where it is you thought you will be? And are you there?

Do you even remember what it is you wanted?
Remember.