Waking Hours

I had to leave for so many reasons. One event followed another and eventually it was clear that there was no reason to stay. The past spoke warmly, but I would not go back to a place where memories were hanging on wall hooks. It was 10:44 in the morning and the dream was still lagging in the back of my mind. The glow of their faces, brimming with possibilities, telling me it was going to work this time. The day had past me by, it was almost 8 p.m. and I had forgotten the dream. These waking hours had painted over that momentary feeling.

It was the end of summer, but so much was beginning.