Today’s one of those days where I feel terribly scared. I don’t know how I can win more time. I’ve always been half decent at talking my way out of things, but I can’t talk my way out of this one. Don’t know how I can do that to make them any healthier, to lessen the lines of age, to stop the trembling.
I’m scared of time passing.
But I can only milk what I can of this time given, in all this uncertainty. I’ve taught myself to forget numbers and time when I’m with them. In the times I catch myself putting a bright screen between me and them, I feel my own heart breaking for being a selfish grandchild, for wasting the time I’ve been given; a warm question is met with an empty, distracted reply. Grandpa watched me play a silly little phone game the other day, asked me if he could play it on his phone too. Looking to find a point of relatability, of connection with his grandchild. I need to listen, I need to be present. All those stories, the scolding, the questions, I’ve been taking them for granted so long.
I’m so scared. I’m scared of things slipping away. I’m scared of moving forward, of wishing for days to come, because I know that with time moves everybody else.
So I continue hold onto their sleeves.
A little girl and her grandparents, wearing seams of memory, love, and time.