A year from now it’ll all be different. A year from now you’ll be there, and I’ll be here, and it’ll almost go back to the way it was before — but not quite. Nothing ever goes back to the way it was before; things just keep going forward and away.
I woke up last night in a cold sweat like something had been chasing me in my sleep. It was a bit unrealistic, though. I don’t think I’d be the one running away since you’re the one doing the leaving. Do you ever have nightmares about being chased? Does the horrid, twisting shape behind you look a little bit like me?
A year from now, you’ll be across an ocean. Or maybe a continent. A year from now, I’ll be watching the skies for someone who’ll never think to look down.
Does any of this matter to you? A little bit, at all? I wonder what I’d tell you, if I ever dared to: hey, maybe you think of me from time to time, but when I close my eyes, the image of your back is burned onto my eyelids? I search the internet for stalkerish tendencies and Reddit says you should learn to let go. As if I could just unclench my fist when all I’ve ever done is hold on.
A year from now, you’ll be gone, and I’d still be here. It’s so cliché it makes me laugh. Reminds me of that one Richard Siken quote: Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.
Would I be happier if I were the one doing the leaving? If I were the one leading the way out of hell, trusting that you would be there when I turned to look back? What a silly question. Why would I claw my way back to the surface if you weren’t there?
I’ll admit it— I do wish everything could stay the same as it is right now. It’s not entirely unreasonable if you think about it. I’m not asking for the impossible: for time to turn back, for my thoughts to be cleared of your concept, for the image of you to be unburnt from the backs of my eyelids. I’m simply asking for things to stay the way they are, in limbo.
But you’d never be satisfied with that, would you? That’s the kind of person you are, and that’s the kind of person you’re molding me into becoming. Every step I take allows my fingers to just barely graze your back like a cruel mirage. You’re always going forward, always going away.
A year from now it’ll all be different, but it’s not a year from now yet. I’m selfish enough to keep looking for another version of the story. I’m selfish enough to keep holding on.
I’m selfish enough to hope you’ll turn around.
Writer – Amy Zyo
Editor – Jessica Dai
Artist – Maryam Nawaz
–August 2025–
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