The Museum Conservator

Soon he will become merely a ghost— a figment of the imagination waiting to be uncovered like a trove of vintage books and decaying watches. Time will tell how long it will take for him to evaporate from my mind. Hours, days, months, years could pass without him becoming a shell of what I vividly remembered him as. Infinite clocks tick, waiting for the moment to occur but there is no guarantee that it will ever arrive. The past will continue to murmur along, backtracking through the course of memories and forgotten stories. And yet, I clearly remember what he never could. 

I was always walking the path behind him, discovering new routes and lacking a sense of direction. He was not a GPS but a temporary guide, attempting to prepare me for when our time together runs out. He will be gone soon, rising out of the ashes and becoming anew. I will be left to graze down the path without him while he polishes a new story to be told. His story will be his destiny regardless of whether it is what he wants or what he is told that he wants. As time runs throughout new pathways, so will he, leaving for new air and opportunities. One door opens and another gently shuts, changing the course that was meant to be taken. There is no way to know this course until we depart from this ever-so-changing place and find a new secret entrance or possibly fade away without knowing it. Maybe, he was a ghost long before he left and I just took too long to realise it. Naturally, I walked to the door anyway and waved goodbye, for it did not make sense to tell him that he was going the wrong way. I could not tell him what he already knew.