text: I sighed and put down my phone, letting this thought flitter through my mind. Recently, I have found myself increasingly thinking of the past and how many experiences I’ve lost to my memory. It’s not as though my mind has been failing me, but the reality of this life we live is that we lose things due to the passage of time. Every experience, interaction, thought, and even memory is fleeting. I have known this, and I accept this. But why do I often find myself trying to hold onto the past? ***Remember the summers where you practically lived outside?*** I brushed my hair out of my eyes and sat up. My bed faintly protesting against my movements. Yes, I do in fact remember those summers. The summers where heat was not considered a deterrence, but rather an excuse to play outside. Where raindrops were seen as something to dance in, rather than to run away from for fear of ruining an outfit. Where even the most mundane, trivial actions were turned into a game. Where I laughed and laughed all day long, returning home after dark with a tired throat and a wide smile. I remember those summers and I remember them fondly. ***How did we get here?*** I swung my legs over the side of my bed and hopped off. This thought lingering in my mind as I slowly approached my window. The window was small and double-paned. The white paint was slightly chipping and the glass was covered in fingerprints of varying sizes. I had always considered cleaning it, but now it would be as if I was compromising its history. Each fingerprint, each smudge had its own story and was tied to a particular moment in my life. Cleaning the glass and erasing my prints is no different than erasing a part of me. I leaned in and pressed my forehead against the cool glass, like I had done many times before. Even this simple action brought comfort to me. The truth is, I’m not sure how I got here. I remember finding joy in the present one day, and the next constantly looking back, longing for the days that were. *Ching!* Behind me, my phone buzzed. It was alerting me that I had received a text. It was most likely from my friend Celia, inviting me to another party. It seems as though that’s all anyone wants to do these days. ***Remember when you would wish to grow up and get invited to parties?*** I chuckled, pressing my forehead more firmly against my window. Aligning my gaze with the tiny stream of water that was beginning to form from the rain. If I had known what it actually meant to be 22, I never would have wasted my wish. I am quite happy with my life. But where did all of the whimsy go? How come the warm breeze no longer dances on my skin whilst playing in my hair? When did the snow stop cascading on me, trying to impress with the individuality of each flake? When did the vibrancy of hue and the pleasant aroma of nature fade? I can still smell it, but not in the same way. I closed my eyes, plunging myself into darkness. The faint patter of the rain hitting my window, filling my ears. In the distance, a bird was tweeting. Suddenly, as if someone had pressed play on a tape recorder in my head, a song flooded my mind. ***“Weightlessness, no gravity.*** ***Were we somewhere in between?*** ***I’m a ghost to you, you’re a ghost of me*** ***A bird’s eye view of San Luis*** ***Mmm mmm mmmmmmm....”*** ***San Luis. By Gregory Isakov. A very good song indeed.*** I sighed and opened my eyes. It was raining slightly harder now. ***The weather must be in mourning also.*** I let out a soft chuckle, but not because I found anything humorous. I turned away from the window and slowly approached my bed. My phone was in the center, alight with messages from a few of my friends. Without reading them, I started typing out a response; “Okay, coming!” I already knew what they would say. Within seconds, I received their responses. They sent a mixture of emojis and “K”’s. ***So it is about going to a party. Of course.*** I grabbed my jacket and started heading to my door. When I reached out to grab the handle, I turned one last time to look out the window. ***The rain is coming down really hard now.*** My phone started buzzing again, most likely due to my friends becoming agitated by how long I was taking. I quickly texted them back; “Sorry, I’m just grabbing my umbrella!” I then shoved my phone into my pocket and reached for my umbrella and purse. I never even noticed that little voice in my head urging me to leave the umbrella behind. I never even realized that each time I refused to acknowledge her, the less I was able to hear her. I never even knew that while I was busy mourning her, she was also mourning me. For the me that she was could no longer recognize the me I had become.