A Ghost Story

Memories trying to remember why they matter. Previously, I had written about Chase Court's twilight and my friends' separate paths—it feels like a lifetime since those concerns, since those now-faded footsteps. Before, the particular fusion of home and remembrance dominated my feeling, but now, as I exist in front of five more student teaching days, I'm only thinking of time. Of its relative infinity and the certainty that what we do echoes throughout.

I'm obviously not good at letting go; I grieve at every conclusion, but I don't want to be a ghost haunting memory. I want the moments to exist and always exist and forever lead into the next. I'm much happier as I write now than I was because it all matters, always.

Theres's never enough time.

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