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      “It’s been seven weeks, two days, and six hours now. You believe that I watch you from afar, but I am as close as I have always been. There is nothing but a thin, effervescent veil separating our two worlds. The veil that stood between you and me at the altar that life-changing day, stands between you and me now, bridging the thin gap between life and death. I once said that I could watch you for hours, for a lifetime even, and that is what I resign myself to do now. What I have resigned myself to do for seven weeks, two days, six hours, and for the entirety of eternity,” I say to myself. 

      Time, it rushes like a flood, and suddenly it all comes to stop. I don’t know if, perhaps, the river of time simply froze over, or maybe it all crashed down in a waterfall, but it’s stopped now, for me, at least. I watch as it marches onward for everyone else. The iron bridge of my hometown has slowly rusted. The trees start to bristle and shake their leaves. And my family moves on, from winter to spring, into a new chapter. The grass is greener up ahead, and on they go. Just don’t forget the one tree on the other side. 

      We will meet in another life, I’m sure of it, whether that will take a millennium or a minute. 

A letter from me to you, and a musing or two

BY bea asuncion


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