Sunday evenings...

In the last month I have only journaled once, making this the second entry.

Sometimes the only way to get past writers block is to sit with it.

Eventually you will hear what it isn’t saying.

Sunday evenings finally stepped forward as the culprit of the most recent barricade.

Robed in hesitancy, weighed down by reminiscence, it slowly explained.

They clogged the system because they simply had no place to go.

Of course, Sunday evenings have not ceased in totality, but ours did.

The unannounced reunions that softly leaked in the love of innumerable lifetimes.

The kind where our gentle presence once rested with content and awe.

They vanished – red string and all.

There were no more steps to retrace back to each other.

No words left unsaid or stolen glances to be had.

What once was an unquestionable knowing now seems more fiction than fact.

See, those specific encounters had no place to go.

Confusingly displaced they stayed right where we left them,

which appeared to be nowhere at all.

Resulting in a congestion of sorts.

No malice was meant.

Not a single ounce of ill intent to be found.

Those Sunday evenings finally reached a conclusion before stepping aside.

Eventually all things must come to an end, even the love of lifetimes.