Reminiscence
I sit upon the riverbank
where evening gathers softly,
and a cool breeze wanders over the water
as though it has all the time in the world.
The river moves without hurry,
carrying fragments of sky upon its back,
and I find myself drifting with it—
not in body, but in memory.
How loud and bright those years once were.
The laughter of friends spilling into midnight,
roads taken for no reason but joy,
shared secrets, foolish adventures,
the certainty that the best days
would never end.
Their voices still live somewhere within me,
echoing like songs from a distant shore.
Some have stayed, some have wandered away,
yet each left a fingerprint upon my heart.
And then there were the darker seasons.
The days when hope felt thin,
when loss arrived uninvited,
when life seemed intent on teaching lessons
I never asked to learn.
I remember standing before closed doors,
holding dreams that had come undone,
wondering how much a soul could bend
before it finally broke.
But souls are curious things.
They gather strength in the very places
where they have been wounded.
They learn to rise because they have fallen,
to endure because they have known pain.
The storms did not leave me untouched;
they carved their marks upon me.
Yet they also hollowed out spaces
where wisdom and compassion could grow.
And now, here beside this river,
with the breeze cool upon my face
and the light fading gently from the day,
I feel no need to chase tomorrow.
For this moment asks nothing of me.
Not ambition.
Not regret.
Not another victory to prove my worth.
Only presence.
Only gratitude for the road already traveled.
The river flows on,
as it always has and always will,
and I understand something simple at last:
A good life is not one untouched by sorrow,
nor one filled only with triumph.
It is laughter remembered.
It is wounds survived.
It is friendships cherished.
It is lessons carried gently.
It is strength earned quietly over years.
And as the water murmurs its ancient song,
I sit in the gathering dusk
feeling neither victorious nor defeated—
only whole.
As though every joy and every grief
has led me faithfully to this shore.
Comments
Post a Comment