Eventually, it will leave. It will be gone.

Words cannot express the simultaneous heartache and felicity I feel. 

It’s almost a grief, this feeling; a yearning for some miracle to occur, in which case I could stay here for as long as I please. 

I don’t want to move forward because that means that now will turn into then, today will turn into yesterday, and one day, this will all be a mere recollection.

But at the same time, it’s exciting. It’s exciting that such a simple concept holds so much gravity; these fleeting moments have the potential to be some of the most important events of my life, and I won’t know until it’s my turn to reminisce in, say, 25 years’ time. That, in and of itself, is frustrating and annoying and beautiful and incredible.

Future nostalgia, as I like to call it. 

I know that these days—the moments I’ve spent with my favorite humans recently—will be the times I will look back on. These will become the “good old days.”

Right now, I am the happiest I’ve been in my life. I am surrounded by some of the most uniquely ethereal people in the world. I’ve been granted the avenue to experience their presence. 

The ephemerality of this euphoria is perhaps my greatest fear. What am I supposed to do if I lose them in the future? 

We joke around most of the time, but in all seriousness, I’m terrified. 

I’m plagued every day by the fact that I may look back at this period of my life and be in a despondent enough position that I have to say, “that was nice while it lasted.”

My worst fear could become reality in a heartbeat; it may be inevitable. 

All I can do is cherish it as best I can in hopes that it lasts. 

This moment, right now, is in the midst of the ‘good old days.’ I refuse to let it pass me by. 

I have the friends I’ve always wanted, and I have the healthiest relationships that I’ve ever even dreamed of having.

What was once the possibility of losing them all isn’t a possibility anymore. I know that they’ll stay as long as they want, and that’s all I ask for. 

I wish more than anything that I could confidently say that we are infinite, but I’m just not sure. And that’s okay. So I convince myself that it’s true, and that is enough to keep me feeling as blessed as I truly am.

Maybe we are, maybe we aren’t, but I’m still saying it, if not to anybody then to myself: we are infinite together. I know that this won’t by any means last forever, but I’m making it last as long as possible.