Can't turn back time
Disclaimer: Don't own it, wish I did.
Summary: Chloe's thoughts about moving.
Brown boxes everywhere, covering the whole house. Carrying possessions, these boxes are picked and taken out. They leave only empty spaces, room for another owner. If only I could pack up my own memories in the same fashion. My life would be filled with a lot less pain, less sorrow. I can't seem to be able to do that though, and so I revisit the past…
Times of happiness in this town come back to me, laughing with friends, parties, school productions, and just hanging out. All these things find me again, calling to me, beckoning to me. These memories plead with me not to leave, and I don't want to go. Suddenly in the midst of happy memories, pain also finds me. The many nights I cried from heartache, the injuries, and the many times friends let me down. Some how these specific memories urge me to leave, yet with all the pain, the pleasant memories conquer. Once again, I remember friends' inside jokes, faces, and laughs. I don't want to leave, never.
As I was wandering in my thoughts, moving men pulled out the boxes, slowly pulling out the boxes as sweat dripped down into their eyes. One worker pulls out a washcloth and dabs at his forehead before picking up another box. Finally all the boxes are gone, and I look around, pulled out of my reverie.
There is not much left to remind me of anything in this empty house, the memories disappear. The space, for only a space is what it has become, loses its warmth, now devoid of emotion. The walls are still white, and where we painted them pale blues and pale salmons, suddenly though, it's not my house anymore, it's strangely cold and dark.
I look around, trying to see where I sat to watch television, where I played on the computer, where I made desserts with my friends, and I cry when I can not find them. Lana looks at me, and puts her hand on my head. "She's got a fever again," she says to my father, who only nods. They think I cry because I have the flu.
My father does not know that I cry for no other reason but that of feeling abruptly lonely and scared. My acceptance of change isn't great. I like stability, and now there is no stability. I want to tell someone, but some how I can't. I have to figure this problem out myself.
I curl up on the wood floor, slowly rocking myself to sleep with my tears. The sun light from the huge windows in the living room bathes me with its warmth, entreating me to cease these sad tears. I can not stop though, I continue to cry and to remember. As I fall asleep, I take one last look around this empty house. I see the memories I wish to see, only after I see them, I wish I never saw them. As these memories flit across my mind, something tells me, "These are only memories, they will never happen again." That voice impresses upon me the finality of this moment. My life in this house will not come back, it will never come back. The page turns, even without my consent, I am leaving, and that won't change. There is only to look forward, because even I can't turn back time.