Lights. Camera. Asshole.

Need I say more? I think not.

So my time here seems to be flying faster than I realized. Tonight, Madame Adrienne was supposed to be arriving already, but it seems she might not be coming because politicians are bickering and are screwing over Canadians with visas... Thank God I travel British. And a week after she was supposed to leave, on March 27th I will be on my next flight to UK via Frankfurt. We also have some family friends who will be coming to stay with us for the next week. As I anticipate the trip, the same vision keeps coming into my mind everytime I shut my eyes. When I sleep, in a day dream, seemingly even when I merely blink at times...

The big old tree by the river where we used to meet. But the establishment by it which my parents used to run, is grey, abandoned, dead. I know this vision of the building itself would be quite accurate to it's current actual state, because the people who bought it off my parents ran it into the ground, and took all the stuff we built with them. In my vision of it all, I am walking down the path towards the river, and I can see myself sitting alone, waiting for you. The me I am walking up to however seems much more simple. I imagine it is the me I would have turned into had I not moved to Canada. As I approach myself, we morph together, and I become the simpler me. I sit. Staring at the water, swinging my feet like I did in this same spot, 9 years before. And I hear your footsteps behind me. As I turn around I see you in the distance but your image is hazy. Partly because I don't know what you look like now, and partly because my eyes are not very good. You keep walking but you never reach me, and as I keep staring the day suddenly turns to night. That last night. The building is full of life again, the children are on the swings, the music is blaring from inside, and the summer breeze set the perfect mood. In an instant, I am in that moment on the old benches where we used to sit. As I turn my head to look next to me where you would have been, you fade. And the whole vision fades away, back to grey with you, as I turn my head back around to face the long wide set of stairs up to the old building, where the music had once been playing years before. Leaving me back in the present, under the tree, back to my current me, on a grey day, in an abandoned memory, swinging my feet back forth on top of the water.

I have to wonder why I keep seeing this. Will I ever see you again? And if so, will you see right through me the way you did then?

Why do I keep seeing this. What is my memory trying to tell me.

Especially after everything that happened beyond that night.

Am I supposed to see you again?

Lights. Camera. ........
Where are you now?