Echoes of Light

Lately, I’ve been thinking about time—not just the ticking of clocks or the turning of calendar pages, but the way time reshapes the contours of our lives. How it softens what once felt solid and how even the most unbreakable bonds can be stretched thin by circumstance.

As children, we make solemn promises to our playmates: best friends forever. We mean it with every fiber of our being. But then a parent’s job changes, a moving truck arrives, and suddenly forever has a forwarding address. We vow to write, to call, to stay close. And sometimes we do—for a while. But life, in its relentless unfolding, brings new schools, new friends,  new routines. The old ones fade, not from lack of love, but from lack of proximity. What remains is the memory—sweet and fleeting, like the scent of orange blossoms carried on a spring breeze. You catch it for a moment, and then it’s gone.

So we begin again. Graduation. Careers. Marriage. Children. The common threads that once stitched us together begin to fray. And sometimes, we find ourselves peeking through the window of memory, longing for what was.

I’m lucky. I have a friend—a rare and steadfast one—who has walked beside me for over fifteen years. We’ve shared laughter that made our ribs ache, conversations that stretched deep into the night and sent me scrambling for a dictionary just to keep up. We’ve swapped music, stories, philosophies, and love. This friendship has been a lighthouse in my life, unwavering even when the seas grew rough.

But recently, life shifted. A health crisis in their family has consumed their time and energy. Between caregiving and work, there’s no space left for long talks or spontaneous check-ins. Our friendship, while still strong in spirit, has suffered in practice. The silence isn’t intentional—it’s circumstantial. And I understand. I truly do.

Still, there’s an empty space where their voice used to be. I miss them. I miss us. And then comes the guilt—for feeling lonely when they’re carrying so much. But I’ve come to realize that missing someone doesn’t mean you’re failing to understand their pain. It means you’re honoring the place they hold in your heart.

This friendship is enduring. Even thousands of miles apart, even in silence, it remains. Like a well-worn book on the shelf, its pages may not be turned daily, but its story is etched into me.

So I wait. Not with bitterness, but with quiet hope. I send little messages when I can—no pressure, just presence. A song we once loved. A memory that made me smile. A reminder: I’m still here. I still carry you with me.

Time changes things. But it also reveals what’s real. And this friendship—this beautiful, resilient bond—is real.