Little Moments

Everything is new and exciting, the bright world that awaits us. We carefully construct our checklists, eager to start blazing through our requirements. That beautiful, singular goal lies perched atop a mountain of obstacles, shimmering tauntingly. We'll get to you someday, we'll have you and the life you'll permit us.

Late nights in the libraries, endless streams of caffeine, the self-imposed pressure to maintain one-hundred percent efficiency, one-hundred percent of the time. Not a moment to waste. An extra hour now means an extra hour closer to reaching that sparkling gem atop that mountain. It basks in the light, beautiful, illustrious. It will be all ours, forever.

We skip the birthdays, the dates, the romance, the gentle breeze, the crispness of Autumn air, the glimmer of Winter's first snow, the making of love, and all the little moments in-between. We wait while the world happens without us. One day we'll have our gem, all will be well. You'll permit us the life we've sacrificed to have you.

We climb and climb and climb, digging into the face of the rock, drawn by the beauty emanating from the peak. Our feet snag during the ascent, we look down. Little moments, scattered amongst the shards of larger ones. Our partner's anniversary, our sibling's birthday, the death of our best friend's mother. We dig our feet in harder, the crackling and splintering and crunching of smaller fragments forming beneath our souls.

We falter, weak with exhaustion, falling now. The ground below is harsh and unforgiving. We lay shattered, paralyzed, unable to move. We look up, helplessly, little moments falling toward us. Sharp and painful, they puncture us to the core. The gem atop the mountain sparkles with apathy. We lay in disbelief, betrayer and betrayal, true to everything and nothing, all at once. We'll have nothing now. We'll never reach that gem. We'll never repair our little moments.

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