Not Long Ago

Back then, morning came slowly. We sat around one table until four. Over something that had happened far away, no one would be the first to say goodbye. In the heat of our words, half a glass of water was knocked over. Drop by drop, it ran along the edge of the table. The first bus had already passed outside, and we still had not finished what we wanted to say.

Not long ago, not long ago. Some things could not simply be left that way. One why, kept inside the heart, could keep us awake for an entire night. Not long ago, not long ago. We always thought tomorrow would somehow be different. Now we call what was left unsaid something already past, turn off the light, and count another day as finished.

Later, when we met, we rarely stayed until deep into the night. Just as a sentence began, I would smile and turn the page. Sometimes something tightened for a moment in my chest, but my steps did not stop. By the time an empty evening finally arrived, I could no longer say what that feeling had been.

The water mark on the table was never wiped away. Later, things were placed over it and it disappeared from view. Sometimes, while tidying the room, a little of it would show again. I touched it with my hand and did not look any further. Another bus passed outside. How did this night become so short?

Not long ago, not long ago. Some things could not simply be left that way. One why, kept inside the heart, could keep us awake for an entire night. Not long ago, not long ago. It turns out so many years have passed. I still remember every face from that night, but I cannot remember who was the first to say goodbye.

Morning is almost here again. There is one sentence we still have not finished.