troqes
in
thekpop100
#006 - 5/3
Title: 5/3
Author: troqes
Fandom/Characters/Pairing: BTS, any member
Rating/Warnings: g, none
Challenge # & Prompt: 006 - the distance + Tracee Ellis Ross's quote
Word Count: 216
You’re fifty-three years old and you find the little box of your twenty-somethings. Pictures of you standing on stage, with your six friends. You wonder where they are now, what they’re doing. You looked happy in those photographs. But you know the truth-how you longed to sit in the sunshine of summer and sift through your memory box. The young you wanted time that stretched like molasses. The young you wanted you.
Your gaze travels to your sun-spotted skin on the back of your hands. What golden years, when the best time of your life has already passed? The hair on top of your head is silver, anyway.
Your eight-year-old granddaughter bursts into the room and peers at the pictures curiously. She shuffles through a few of them and declares that she wants to be like you-you, now, or then? She doesn’t know what she's holding in her hands-she is young yet.
At her age, all she has to look to is the future. Older, and it becomes something rotten that you had to slough through. You think about crumpling the photographs, an act of willful forgetfulness. As your granddaughter sifts through your youth with her own eager, childish hands, you decide:
Nostalgia is a survival mechanism, a swimming stroke. The pursuit is lifelong; the distance never closes.
You'll keep these pictures.
Author: troqes
Fandom/Characters/Pairing: BTS, any member
Rating/Warnings: g, none
Challenge # & Prompt: 006 - the distance + Tracee Ellis Ross's quote
Word Count: 216
You’re fifty-three years old and you find the little box of your twenty-somethings. Pictures of you standing on stage, with your six friends. You wonder where they are now, what they’re doing. You looked happy in those photographs. But you know the truth-how you longed to sit in the sunshine of summer and sift through your memory box. The young you wanted time that stretched like molasses. The young you wanted you.
Your gaze travels to your sun-spotted skin on the back of your hands. What golden years, when the best time of your life has already passed? The hair on top of your head is silver, anyway.
Your eight-year-old granddaughter bursts into the room and peers at the pictures curiously. She shuffles through a few of them and declares that she wants to be like you-you, now, or then? She doesn’t know what she's holding in her hands-she is young yet.
At her age, all she has to look to is the future. Older, and it becomes something rotten that you had to slough through. You think about crumpling the photographs, an act of willful forgetfulness. As your granddaughter sifts through your youth with her own eager, childish hands, you decide:
Nostalgia is a survival mechanism, a swimming stroke. The pursuit is lifelong; the distance never closes.
You'll keep these pictures.