Once

Now playing: Falling Slowly, from "Once".
Which is strange, because I'm sitting here, looking at bits and pieces of the past which I stumbled upon by accident, to kill time with while I wait for the graveyard shift to end, and it's been making me nostalgic, when this song comes on and catches me off guard.
I didn't mean to rummage through these memories which I had tucked away safely in the unsealed cardboard box in the attic.
These are the pictures I chose for the most part of the year, to deliberately push out of my vision, because it's easier that way.
Why haven't I thrown them out completely? The pictures of us laughing till we couldn't breathe, the pictures of us talking about the things we knew and the things we didn't, like we had been spun from the same ball of yarn (we probably were),  the pictures of us crying at the airport because we knew it was the end. .
Maybe I'll change my mind about this one day - I don't think I'll ever be able to throw them out or burn them in a flame. They are treasures. A part of us. A part of me.

We were, for the longest time, a rhyme, a song. There were words that, when placed together neatly and carefully, could paint the portrait of us.
But we never got our portrait done. We just borrowed words from others. We couldn't have afforded our own anyway.

"Falling Slowly" was at that moment where we had told ourselves, "we still got time". We sure thought we did, and what we did was, we took that time and used it like it was it owed to us.
But the truth is, it was borrowed time.
I suppose somewhere inside we knew. That even if we were from that same ball of yarn, we were meant to be woven into different tapestries.
It's still hard to place a finger on it, to give a speech explaining it that, as they say, "hits the nail on the head", even now when it's been a year and the cloud has pretty much passed. The grieving done, and all the mourners have long wiped their tears off their faces.
I've since given up on trying to understand. "Just accept it and move on with your face ahead" has worked well and I've stuck to that. Faith, is what some of them call it. Although during my most cynical of days I think that I was simply not given a choice.

Regardless, it has worked out. I see now that we knew what was true all along (and if I were to press myself to remember, I can recall him saying on several occasions how similar yet different we are).
We are being woven into separate fabrics, and no matter how you spin it, you can't deny that they are indeed, almost impossibly immaculately beautiful.

But sometimes I still catch myself wondering, such as today, if I would ever see again in another, the depth that I once knew.