The Last Day

By: Kate Loeffel

Image from Annie Mathews

I have never been so filled with melancholy than to be sitting in the presence of the final hours.

To recognize I will not have another moment identical to this one again, not because the ticking of a clock forcing finales. Rather a controlled ceasefire- an absolvement brought upon my own volition. 

It’s not unusual to have the last moments in a city, on vacation, or in the hallways you’ve grown up in. To walk in the footsteps of history’s ghosts, knowing that your imprint will never leave another trace. To lose a physical experience you can’t recreate. 

It's another reserved sensation of sadness to acknowledge that you may never hold your lover again, because your hearts are out of rhythm. You cannot impose a tempo onto diverging souls, and composing in related signatures does not ensure harmony. 

But I lay next to you, one last time, knowing that the dwindling hours will bring the conclusion of our story. Riddled by the anticipation of remorse of tomorrow, I can’t bring myself to hold you the way I did before. But my heart swells with desire for your touch, aware that this commodity is scarce. 

The passing of every moment brings forth a new consideration, is this really what I want? New tenets of information emerge in my mind, and oscillate my position. I am a dried orange leaf, swaying in a wind of indecision, but ultimately I will fall to earth’s floor with the inevitability of the end. 

But for now I will recognize that this is the last day I will be yours. The last day that I may have the opportunity to make you laugh, share your infectious presence, and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

But this is also the last day I wish it still felt the same.