passage

there is a certain romance about foreseeing the end of an era. it is a glassy-eyed, sappy (sad-happy) feeling that hangs over “the past”’s impending doom. it must be excruciating to find yourself thrown into this phase of someone else’s history, especially when you can see what used to be in their eyes on certain nights when alcohol and moonlight betray them. the urge to repeatedly ask, “why” must be unbearable. the unsatisfactory answer is, of course, that this is how these things go. and, like quicksand, struggling against momentum only makes it worse.