Time Might Separate Us Some Day

I watched Hotarubi no Mori e last week. Such a simple and beautiful little story. It kind of ties in with what I've been thinking and feeling lately about mortality and meaning. Of course I suppose one reason we love stories at all is that in their selection of glimpses and moments they achieve an effect, one might call it an antidote, that fights the general sense of pointlessness that grows to pervade our living, the longer we live. (Life is so long, and so fleeting.) 

We have probably forgotten any number of firefly forests that we once knew, lost in the accumulation and discarding of detail. After we die, I imagine a great remembering, perhaps a great ordering of experience: all the little narrative arcs and how they all contribute to a grander one. Or perhaps there's oblivion. I can't know for sure right now. But it's nice to imagine a secret but innocent friendship, an almost-kiss, and a series of summers that changed a life. "...Even still, until then, let's stay together."