We Still Have Time

We as humans have a funny little habit of telling ourselves and one another that we still have time. We still have time until we don't.  We still have time until the day we've been silently dreading for weeks on end finally wedges its way into the present. We still have time until we are in the very moment of departure. And then we freeze. Our minds go blank and our bodies go numb, as if the universe is refusing to let us comprehend the concept of one last goodbye. What do we say? What do we do? Are words enough? Is one last embrace enough? So we get sloppy, and we start babbling about things we've already talked about; dead end statements that can't possibly be added onto. Perhaps we do it to fill the awkward air between us as we desperately try to search for something meaningful to say—something that'll stick. Perhaps we do it as to not let the other person know how much the present moment is ripping us apart inside. We fight the urge to look each other in the eye because we know if we do we'd never want to look away. We ditch the thought of trying to memorize each other's features because that in and of itself indicates that we'll only ever exist in each other's minds from here on out—and that's just not right. We shut down. We become emotionless robots. We give careless one armed hugs as to not let the gravity of the situation drag us down with it—at least then we still have some bits of our deluded fantasies to hold onto, even when reality is forcefully tugging us in the opposite direction. We turn our backs to each other and call out standard farewells, none of which even mean anything, really. We turn our backs to the sound of each other's voices, the ones that have been the symphonies of our daily lives for so long, as they echoed down halls, filled up rooms, and seeped into the tender cracks of our hearts. We turn our backs to the only goodbye that will ever really stay with us, rejecting its importance in a useless act of protest. We turn our backs even though we are fully aware of the risk we are taking. This could be the last, and we're wasting it. We lock up our hearts with such ferociousness because we're too afraid of everything that's left to say—everything we still need to say. We convince ourselves that it's not the last time, because we know it can't be. We won't let it be. We convince ourselves that we still have time. Because we still have time, until we don't.