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Rahul Sameer

Drifting

Youth.

The days are long, never-ending, ripe with possibilities.

Dialing the home phone, waiting for the ring on the other end

Minutes later, they’re at the door

Minutes later, racing into their second home, turning on the television

Minutes later, the sound of animated laughter rings in the house.


Middle school.

New classes, new people.

New cliques, new expectations.

You cradle your head on the desk with one arm

The other arm robotically doodling on scrap paper,

The remnants of an unfinished practice test perched

At the edge of the desk as outside

The night is silent.


Your time with your childhood friends decreases

As you interact with other people

And have lunch with your new “friends”. Or whatever they are.

The home phone rings weekly

For your weekend meetups.

But time is not on your side,

As you reluctantly say goodbye to your friends and

Hello to the schoolbooks later that night.


High school.

Work, work, work and more work.

The home phone is silent as you instead fish out your phone

And quickly text Sry, I’m busy tdy but maybe tmrw.

But what is tomorrow? What does it really represent?

It is the embodiment of something that you never see, that you imagine

But never touch, a part of your brain where you bury everything you’ve been

Putting off and never return to it.

Consumed by schedules, classes, success

You spend your time revising for exams

Or procrastinating on YouTube when no one is looking.


Then the news reaches you and you rush over to their house

Their luggage is at the door, ready to go,

You have five minutes to say your goodbyes.

You both reflect on the time of your lives

Carefree, devoid of responsibility

Oh, how you miss it. How you miss those

Sunny afternoons in the playground, feet

Lifting off from the ground, launching into the sky

Light, free,

Your friends on the swings on either side of you

Yelling I can swing higher than you.


And the moment is over and you are back in the dusty lobby.

There is a moment of hugging, but tears never come.

I’ll visit you every summer. I’ll call you everyday.

Tell me everything about your life. We’ll remain best friends.

At the time, you do not realise it, but these are nothing

But empty promises that, along with your friend, will drift away.

Later, when they’re vast oceans and time zones away,

Your daily texting will become weekly, monthly, rarely,

Birthday posts will become stories, messages,

Then nothing at all. Habitual, but hardly meaningful like they used to be.

It’s only until Snapchat reminds you

That It’s been forever

Or Facebook shows you a memory

From 8 years ago on your parents’ feed

Or you scroll through Instagram to archive posts and

Find a grainy selfie of you and that friend

That you’ll come to terms with it.


Months later, you go down to the playground.

The place of your upbringing, your source of happiness.

Climb onto the swingset, push your legs off the ground and

For a minute, it’s blissful. You laugh, and think

Maybe my childhood really does last forever.

It’s not too late, it will always wait for you,

You just have to claim it.


Then the swing groans with your weight. It is tired of you.

The wind slams into the side of your head, throwing your

Neatly combed hair to the side.

The only sound you hear is your heavy breathing

As the vertigo sets in and you need to stop.

Above you, the sun sets and it becomes dark,

And you trudge home, knowing that


Your childhood days are over.

Your youth is over.

You’ll never feel that way again.


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