Pacheco. Again.

"there's something in time
that has sailed away forever."

Yes. Pacheco, again. All night.

There are things that I wanted that I can never have. Things that I had hoped for that will never be. Leaving New Orleans is my admission.

I'm like the person who storms out of the party and then hangs around just outside the door, waiting for someone to invite me back in. But it's not going to happen. Sometimes you have to admit that it's getting late. The party's ended. Everyone else has gone home, forgotten the scene you made, would look at you with confusion if you apologized.

I've known all along that something sailed away from me. I just couldn't admit to myself that it was forever. I sat on the edge of the river, waiting for its return with the hopeless hope of a child watching her toy boat being carried away on a careless current. She thinks, "If I sit here, it'll come back to me." That's how children think. Maybe the hope is silent, but it's there. You see it in her eyes. She's just old enough to know that it's hopeless, but she continues to hope nonetheless. But there's also resignation. And then one day she grows up all the way. I don't know. I guess the hopeless hope is still there somewhere. But the resignation gets heavier. Not depressing. I don't mean it to sound that way. But one day, she stands, wipes the hem of her little dress, pushes her hair back from her eyes, and says, "Well, I've waited here long enough. It's not coming back. I've lost it."

Maybe then she builds a bigger boat. One that she can climb into. Maybe she'll row down the river herself. Why not? Why sit, waiting?

She's not going after her long lost toy. She's just trying to keep up with time.

The party has ended. The boat has sailed. It's time for me to follow suit.