There are secrets even the world cannot express but in the merest whispers--haunting truths that carry heartstrings with them across time, space, and the particles between. These unraveling mysteries phantom themselves into our lives--they pass us in the street, sit beside us in the park, or become an integral part of our being.
They are The Drifters, people who have been lost to the spell of existing in the folds of reality.
You know them, have felt the hair rise on your arms in their presence, breathed in their unnatural air with puzzlement and fascination--and you have loved them and lost them.
We call them lovers, mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers, children and strangers. Their eyes sparkle, their smiles beam, and their hearts soar with such awe that we firmly believe they should be sailing in the skies on strong feathered wings than planted firmly on soil with rooted trees. It is no wonder then that they eventually travel on--that these drifters part like birds answering a distant beckoning call.
They leave us with our hearts aching, our minds torn in torment in the wake of their vanishing.
They get in their cars with a lasting kiss goodbye, disappearing down the line on the road to nowhere. They board ships and planes destined to land in oblivion. And they walk across the street to grab a cup of coffee residing in the never ending.
They leave is wonder.
Are they still driving down that same lonesome highway, unaware that time is moving by like the road signs?
Is he staring out the plane window, taking in the clouds and cityscape beneath, never realizing that he has been flying for centuries?
Does she know the sunset that she is watching aboard an almighty vessel has been trying to reach ocean waves for countless lifetimes?
Will they ever comeback with that same hopeful childish smile?
Maybe.
They pop up in unexpected places--if you recall--stepping out of shops that no longer exist or waving at us as their vessel sails out of one ghostly fog into the next. They pull us into their moments, shifting the world around us so we can be in their presence--like youths on a playground with a Paper Fortune Teller, bending their fingers and meeting the folds as they count on.
You remember the book store that suddenly, for a few seconds, looked like a tea shop? Or the storm where, for the briefest of moments, you swear the cars passing you by were all decades too old to be on the road? How about that train you thought you missed only to realize it was never meant to depart?
Perhaps tomorrow your paths will cross across again.
Or in another time and place, you will become a Drifter among them.
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