tomy

“Don’t leave me,” I begged softly, though there was no one around to hear it. The words hung in the air like mist, dissolving into the stillness. The lake stretched out before me, quiet, unbothered, its surface a smooth pane of silver under the early morning light. It hadn’t changed, not really.  The same gentle curve along the shoreline, the same leaning trees with roots exposed like old bones, the same patch of reeds where we used to hide and whisper secrets like we were fugitives from the world. In summer, we swam here until our lips turned blue and the sun sank behind the trees. We’d race to the dock, cannonball in, then lie on towels that smelled of mildew and sunscreen. In winter, the lake froze into a sheet of glass. We laced up our skates and carved loops and figure-eight across it, pretending we were weightless. We fell so often our elbows bruised, but we laughed anyway. It all looked the same. And yet, none of it felt familiar anymore. I climbed the trail ...