There it was, that wisp. The shadow of a memory. It feathered against his conscious like a light caress. The laughter of a child. A child that was he, Methos, though at the time he had not been known as Methos. Perhaps he had not had a name yet, being too young for a proper name still. It was impossible to tell.
It was equally impossible to discern what, exactly, triggered that elusive ... memory of a memory. A faint smell, perhaps, too faint to enter conscious thought. It happened so rarely, and so quickly. It turned up and disappeared, like koi in a pond coming close to but not breaking the surface.
It's not much. Just laughter. The feeling of sun on his skin. The knowledge that he was happy and trusting and really, truly a child at the time. No sense of time, no sense of his whereabouts, only sunlight and happy laughter.
His fingers cannot hold on to that slippery moment, however much he wishes he could. He cannot even try. Methos must keep his center in the here and now. There is no end to the past that he can see, there is no end to the future, hopefully. Consequently, there is no balance if you hold on to either of the two. There is no balance between past and future.
There is only here and now. There is no past. There is no future. There is only times that have been "here and now", and times that have yet to be "here and now". No moment is lost if it is lived to the full.
So every time the distant child's laughter sounds in his ears again, he says goodbye to that memory. And every time saying goodbye hurts just as badly as the time before.
A Trip Down Memory Lane by Holde_Maid
I wrote this at my lj. Opening the window to post, I still had no idea what I'd write. And then, bam, it was there - that same memory, and I knew it was Methos'. Maybe I spend to much time with the old guy...