Nothing feels like it stays for long. I lose track of time
and people. I want them to stick around, but they're always bolting. I want to leave, but I end up staying put. I try, I really try, to appreciate the good times
when they arrive, and not think about them ending. It's never been easy.
Growing up in a tourist town didn't help much. I knew in the back of my mind that no matter how much I liked them, or how well we got along, the friends I would make in the summer would leave with their parents in the fall, and it would be over. It got to where I didn't even see an end, just that one day they were there and the next they weren't. I seldom waved them goodbye or watched the car pull out of the driveway wherever they were staying. Sometimes, their parents would have condos here and would return in the fall as well. They would call me up, but there would be a more hollow feel to our encounters because, well, fall had already come. We had felt the chill of summer's end already, but I would be the only one to recognize it.
I don't want to come because I don't want you to leave. I return to my childish days of wanting to cling to daddy's leg when I was shoved off to my room in punishment
but never having to do it. Don't be surprised if I hate you a little because you don't stay, even if it's nobody's fault. This time will pass, and I understand. Just once though, I want to be anchored. I want time like this to not pass but go on, to continue. I get tired of starting over.