Epilogue

a time of denouement.

and here I sit, a room lighted by the acquainted sun of the day, my midpoint of loss, or perhaps my instant in time of possibility. It is as if the very walls of my bedroom are aware of my leaving. One week will pass by, and emptiness will prevail. The chair of the high kitchen will become dusty and cold, the bed, whether to remain or not will lack the presence of my being. I find my reality hard to grasp. It is a looming hour of fabrication.

I felt myself disassociating completely at that point, sliding into regression as that final week progressed. Couldn’t identify with the momentary, the non-lasting sensibility in the expanse of my realm. Metamorphosis, the feeling of departure, possibly forever, consumes my bodily energy. Mornings wake to the dreams of a nearby future, looming closer as days slowly stretch themselves into endless wonder, a conundrum of time, existing in such small extent, yet feeling perpetual. I never imagined my life could become so difficult, and surely never believed I would make it through to these final days. I’ve craved my homeland for so long I felt as if I will never see it again, time had erased so much of what was left behind. Three days remain in a country I have somehow unknown to God survived living in for a period of time fleeing the depths of memory so fast I refuse to believe it happened.