There was a path leading to the woods close to where we lived.
We used to go there everyday, hand in hand, hoping to see something new. Whether it being a dog walking by the water, or a cherry blossom tree, or a burnt cigarette bud, we were always searching.
Sometimes, when the night arrived too soon, we would spend a night in the forest, and listened to the crickets. We would talk about how the clouds moved, and how the world started to keep each other awake, so neither of us would miss the shooting stars.
We used to collect rocks on this path. We would write down our happiest moment of the day onto the rocks with a red pen and put them in a jar. He said it would be our time capsule, and that we’d read it when he comes back.
He never kept his promise.
Days gone by, and the forest grew. The loud lemonade-stand-kid in the neighborhood just came home from college with an outstanding honor.
The jar sat in the dusty corner of my room, abandoned.
I decided to pick it up and revisit the forgotten path. I opened the jar, and took out the first rock I see. It said “the biggest flower from the lotus pond” in his familiar handwriting. I remembered exactly where we saw that. I found my way through the older and taller woods that seemed so familiar, yet so distant.
The lotus pond was just as pretty, but there wasn’t that one biggest flower anymore. I laid the rock down beside the tree we sat. And continued on my journey.
The jar emptied before I even realized. It is a rocky path after all.