The Red Mist of Nostalgia

This is a recount of a dream I once had.

I stood rooted to the cold concrete, entranced by what I saw. Before me were glowing red mists, swirling in a curious fashion.

It gained momentum and slowly manifested into people I knew. At this point more than twenty of them faced me.

Though, they still had the reddish quality of the mist, each were frozen into the mannerisms they were well-known for. He had his trademark smirk, she had her cheeky grin; another had his hand on his nose, as if he had been rubbing it previously; yet another had her left eyebrow raised in exasperation.

I gazed on, appreciating the quirks of my friends. I thought about how they left a huge impact, even though some didn’t talk much to me. This is the funny quality of youth. Drama was always round the corner. I continued my reminiscences and contemplations.

Suddenly, just as mysteriously as my friends had manifested, each of them began to glide swiftly away from me. One by one they reached a certain distance, and there they lost their statue-like quality. With a whooshing sound, they had once again become smoky red; the mist that they were fashioned from.

All this while, as they left, I felt a distinct emptiness. Deep down, I knew it would eventually happen but I chose to ignore the truth of it.

So lonely…