The Tenderness of Forever
We don’t ask for much, really. Just a little more time. Just for the good things to stay. And yet, we know nothing comes with that guarantee. Still, we make plans, say soon and one day, fall in love, build homes in people and imagine futures we have no certainty of reaching. Perhaps that’s the strange thing about being human: we know how uncertain life is, yet we keep making room for what we hope it will become.
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And sometimes, the grief begins before anything is gone. We miss people who are still here, versions of ourselves we can no longer return to, and seasons of life we didn’t realise were special until they became memories. There is a particular sadness in experiencing something beautiful while knowing you cannot keep it.
But perhaps wanting more time isn’t the same as refusing to accept that things end. Sometimes, we simply aren’t ready to leave what has meant something to us. Like lingering at a dinner table after the meal is over, not because we don’t know the evening is ending, but because the company is good and we wish it could last a little longer.
Maybe forever was never about keeping things unchanged. Maybe it was about being present enough to recognise what we had while we had it, and understanding that something doesn’t have to last forever to have mattered.
