The moment hangs there as if it is waiting for time to catch up with it and move it on. The moment is like a stick, or some other detritus, snagging on an obstacle as it flows down the river. It's possible to see the way the current of time pulls at it, tries to free the moment from this hold we have on it. Each of us grips tight, hard, on this now, not wanting to let it go, not wanting this last moment together to be taken by the current of time to flow on, float out of sight, disappear around the bend in the river of time as it flows away down to the sea of memory.
We wanted more than a memory; we wanted more time together. We could have, if our moment had not been this moment, if our time had been some other time, flowed on down the river together. Each of us helping the other past the objects and obstructions happenstance throws into the river of time to snag us and capture those of us that flow with it.
We met though, forced together by circumstance and accident, and we know that once this – our last moment together – is over, the river will flow on, pulling us further and further apart, probably never to see each other again.
I see it in your eyes, as the river breaks our grip on each other and the torrent carries you away; the fear that you may be drowning and that I will soon be too far out of reach to save you.
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