'Echoes' by Aiza Ali

Every year I turn around and meet a stranger.

She wears my face,

speaks in my voice,

and carries wounds I once believed would never heal.  

Yet each time I see her,

I realize she was never as broken as I thought she was.  

I have a habit of mourning things before they are gone

and loving them only after they leave.  

I spend my days overlooking the sunlight in my hands,

then years searching for its warmth

inside old memories.  

I keep losing things I genuinely love.

Places.

People.

Versions of myself.  

When everything changes,

I cry for a while,

and then the memories fade like fog.

But they never truly leave.  

One ordinary afternoon,

a scent,

a song,

a month on the calendar,

and suddenly I am standing in the ruins again.

The memories wait quietly

in the corners of ordinary days.  

The problem with me

is that I won't bury my past.

Even when I am no longer the person who suffered,

I still carry the bones of her.  

One day,

the places I miss will become memories.

The person I am today

will become someone I barely recognize.  

Perhaps growing up

is realizing that nothing extraordinary lasts forever.

Or perhaps it is learning

to love it while it does.  

For now,

all I have are echoes.  

And maybe they will never be enough.

Maybe a part of me

will always yearn for what is gone.  

But some losses are not meant to be solved.

They are meant to be carried.  

So I walk forward

with my echoes.