The Paradox Of The Last Time

The last time.

I dread it,

And yet it is with me in every moment.

I fear it,

And yet the fact that I do means I have known something true.

I fight it,

And yet its very presence means that a new moment of love and light and possibility is revealed to me.

I lament it,

And yet it gives me unwavering and never-ending purpose.

A gorgeous aching urgency to follow the vision that allows me to see all of the last times,

For myself and others.

What we fear most is the doorway into our greatest gifts.

When I leave knowing it's going to be a long time,

I can't help but look over my shoulder and try my hardest to take it in.

To imprint.

With a sense of urgency,

Almost panic,

I walk away with a desperate ache.

Every other time I walked away,

I was distracted.

Brain swirling with all the to-do's and what's next.

An absence of lingering.

Why do we have such a hard time remembering?

Why is it so difficult to fully be with something before we lose it?

Every little thing,

Like the familiar cracks in the pavement,

The smell of the air,

The salty air on my skin.

I notice all of it in the knowing that it is going to be gone.

How can we notice what is without the fear of the absence?

How can I notice where I am when I am there?

How can I escape the never-ending,

Paradoxical quest for the greenest grass through glasses so rose-coloured I can barely see any green at all?