They have compared life to a journey on a moving train. They say we alight at some point.

It was foreign to my ears as was the coming of the white men to native dwellers.

It would remain so until late into my adolescence. The tides rose, but not in my favour.

I returned from the playground one day to meet the mourners...most of whom cared little and meant none of their sympathies.

It was the day the news of her death reached my itching ears and drummed them into solitude.

My morning star. Galadriel never met a greater equal than her.

The evening star, Arwen bowed to none besides her.

Yet, she who was full of life and grace of the heavens could kiss the dark ring of death.

She lived well. So, it hurt more to watch her alight knowing there was nothing I could do. 

Her laughter and warmth faded, but not fast enough. It lingered in the air. Echoed in the still void. Warmed my cold body, and gave me chills. I felt her everywhere.

The day we said farewell, friends, foes—those known and many unknown —gathered to comfort us. But they should have let us cry freely if it is the sealed fate of mortals to alight at some point. 

Sincerely, it calls no fear on Its own. My dread however, is how and when my time will come.

How long will people shed tears? If not as long as memories stay fresh. After then, only sighs will remain. 

But not in her case…

Today, like in the past few years, I remember her with a smile for her memory lives on... like  all those who alighted…

Yet, alive and evergreen in our hearts.