Nostalgic (for the Imagined, the Wished, the Never to Be)

(for the Imagined, the Wished, the Never to Be)

This came to me of late, after I had talked with you one evening. We had been reminiscing, telling tales of years long past; and when I had retired from the conversation, I was gifted with a vision as clear as cloudless day.

In my mind a wish came true; a wish that I had not yet imagined, yet one I had desired nonetheless; even without knowing. I could feel the wish had always been, but only now becoming identified. The effects of this wish were supernatural, like a spell, cast upon me and upon you. It was wonderful; I saw it. They say you cannot please everyone, but I think this to be the exception. I hope you can see it like I did.

We’ve talked at length, you and I; sometimes often, sometimes weeks in between. We’ve shared a few personal details, but we’ve also kept many things secret; sometimes it hurts me not to know, sometimes it hurts me not to tell. Sometimes I think we have the strongest of bonds, other times I wonder if you’re even real. And it hurts that I even think such things of you, mistrust; it feels as if I’m betraying you by not believing what you’ve said to me in confidence.

Do you also suspect me of lying? Do you also mistrust my intentions, my existence? It’s fine if you do. I am sure I deserve it, as I’ve probably deceived you even without knowing.

I have long wished that we could meet in person, and I feel that I could trust you more if that came to pass. But just as much as I know that I will continue to withhold my trust otherwise, I know the near-impossibility of our meeting. Our schedules are so different, our worlds are different. You’re older than I, you’re younger than I; you live far away from me, spread to all the points of the compass. Neither I nor any of you have the means to collect us and bring us together. And what would happen even if we could? Nothing much. Little more than an awkward afternoon, our minds still occupied by the troubles, troubles which pursued us around the globe to mire our attempt to meet and enjoy respite together; an afternoon followed by long and lonely trips to our respective homes, back to our normal lives, each of us wishing we’d said more, wishing we’d asked more.

But it’s true. I know that I, at least, am so full of hesitations that I keep even my own name hidden from you. No trauma or hurt has built this wall around me; only I, myself have done it; so if you have been hurt, how much greater is your own wall?

But as I said, I saw a vision of a supernatural sort, like a spell upon us which I had wished. And the spell was great and powerful, folding the corners of the earth and moving the hands of time.

For we are separated as much by age as by distance, but the spell cast made light of that. Suddenly we were all together, and we were very young once more; not a one of us older than five or six.

Oh, but you may wonder why I would wish this, and some of you may protest. For while we all share a similar interest, it is not identical. Some of us simply like diapers, other like to regress, or to dominate, or to need, or to be forced. But before you ask any question of my intent, I tell you that it is fair that we have all gone back in age, and that I have not catered to any one aspect of this interest. Trust me, if you can, if you will.

For our separation by age is not the foolish, self-inflicted requirement that we must all be of the same year or generation, that being too old or too young would separate one from the rest, no—though that is not entirely untrue; but instead that our years have pushed us apart, some of us even several decades thus, and all this long before we even met. The troubles of our lives have beaten us down, and we forget, sometimes, to forget those very troubles, even when the chance arises. We spend our best moments fretting about the worst, darkening our brightest days with storms that have either long since passed, or have yet to be. In this I am as guilty as anyone else.

But now that we were all young again, we had forgotten those troubles. We had forgotten all the betrayals through the years, the ones which made us wary of others. We had forgotten our borders, the ones which say we must stay apart; the ones which pit us against one another, to hold bitter grudges from wars we never fought and have long since lost. We had forgotten our obligations, the worries that call to us long after we leave them far behind. We had forgotten our worries, our political alignments, our prejudices, our debts, it was all gone from us.

As I looked at you, I saw only a group of friends, close like brothers and sisters. I didn’t worry that you’d lie to me, I didn’t worry that you’d betray my trust and spread my secrets. I keep no secrets from you; but not because we trust each other like we used to trust everyone when we were young; though that much remains true; I keep no secrets because I have none to keep. As adults, we were each an amalgamation of our pasts, often ugly because. Now we are as brand new, no longer holding on to painful memories or stressing with concern for the future. We exist only in this moment, and this moment is good. In my mind I saw this, all of us. There’s no judgment between us, nor any shame. The innocence of our youth is shared between us.

Now before you go assuming that since this is a diaper story, then all of us are in diapers. No, we are not; but we could be if we wanted. No one would care, no one would be superior for not wearing them, nor would they feel ashamed if they needed to wear them. No one would be actively looking to see if anyone else was in diapers or if they needed a change; no one would feel lustful eyes upon them, nor judgment, nor disgust, nor even pity. We could wear diapers if we desired, and that’s all that mattered.

But what I saw in the vision, I saw only for a short time. We were outside on a dirt path, with fields and trees around us; we were separated from the rest of the world. We walked along for a time, quietly enjoying our friendship. The sun was setting, igniting the sky with a brilliant crimson. The closing of day did not sour our mood, as we were not concerned for the ending of this moment. We simply enjoyed the time, knowing only this very moment and each other within it. We walked along in peace and then we went inside.

In the quiet house, we made our way to the bedroom where there was a massive fortress of pillows and blankets. We each took a spot, sprawled out or nestled somewhere in the bundles of cloth and cushioning, quickly falling asleep to peaceful slumber. No worry on our faces, we fell asleep, not concerned with how little time there was before the spell would fade.

And just like that, it was gone. I do hope you can see as I saw, dear friends, for it was a beautiful thing.