Stuck Halfway

Most dissolve or become shrines you visit in old age. Others linger, unresolved, and can sit there in memory for years until what is missing comes creeping back or starts the replay of a moment you paused long ago, now let to run its full length even if a lifetime late. There are others that remain always in between, stuck halfway like a stone cast into the dark, when the ear waits to hear it break the river's quiet, but there is no sound, no end, only a silence and the fog coming in, the cold, bitter air biting on every nerve, panic taking hold, closing in to keep a part of you there, waiting for something that will never come.