We are all 13.8 billion years old. In our consciousness, at least. Not in these disposable meat sack bodies. When they first announced that, I’d just gotten off the tube … Continue reading Lifetime
We’ve been in this maze for so long
But we are not lost
Life is long and the maze is winding
The goal’s not the end
It’s the route you take to reach it.
I’d been walking alone for so long
I was not lonely
Others beckoned me to follow them
Their paths unenticing
Until I ran into you walking my way.
We pick the same path and I pause
To look back
At the turns we have taken together
At the paths I could take on my own
If I decided to say “So long.”
Since astronomers first looked up at the stars they’ve wondered about the expanse of the universe. The shape. How many galaxies are there? How far does it stretch beyond the observable? Does it have edges?
But she does have elbows.
She stood on the shore and watched a star fall down from the heavens towards her. The closer it came, the smaller it got. It burnt brighter as it entered her atmosphere and then dimmed. She almost lost track of it altogether until she heard the thud of it landing in a sand dune behind her. She turned and ran to find it, just a small, flat piece of rock that had once been a star.
She picked it up. It was almost too hot to hold. She turned it over in her hand and couldn’t believe what she saw. There, etched in the stone in shimmering silver were the words: hello. Is there anyone out there as lonely as me?
The words made her heart hurt. She turned the stone over and pulled out a black marker pen from her pocket.
Yes. She wrote back and threw it as hard as she could in to the heavens. It vanished. She stood alone for a while feeling how small she was in this big and empty universe.
The next night she watched as another star fell towards her. This one was much bigger and it said I have thrown my words to the universe for centuries and now it has thrown me back a friend. Who are you?
And so they began to write to each other. The girl on the shore and the girl in the stars had a conversation that spanned the cosmos. It travelled at lightspeeds through moonbeams. It dove in to black holes and bounced across galaxies. The universe was still big and they were still small, but no longer alone. They had fallen in love in the starlight.
One night, without warning, the girl in the stars stopped replying. The girl on the shore waited. For decades she threw words at the stars who stayed silent. Her hair turned grey, her hands hurt when she moved them but still she wrote. Still she waited.
I miss you, she wrote with a shaley hand and raised her arm to throw it. But then in the distance she saw something. At first she thought it was her old eyes failing her, but as she squinted at the sky she saw the light of a falling star. When it entered her atmosphere it did not dim. It grew brighter and brighter until she almost couldn’t bare to look. One last flash and then there in the sand in front of her was a beautiful woman made of stardust.
“My love,” she smiled at the old woman on the shore. “You are so beautiful.”
The old woman blushed. “I am old,” she said.
“Your age is nothing compared to the universe. Everything that is anything no once burned in the heart of a star. Your outer shell does not matter. Not when we are all made of stardust.”
Via Daily Prompt: Blush
Throwback to an older post because I’m too tired and full of the cold to write a new one today.
He emerged from the shadows. A streetlight shone down on him, turning his blonde hair into a halo and forming a pool of ethereal light at his feet. His piercing green eyes spoke directly to her heart. She was instantly enamoured. Love at first sight.
He smiled and she felt warm. He beckoned her over, towards the light. She went without question, amazed he’d noticed her at all.
She stepped in to the light around him. His outstretched hand turned in to a claw. He scooped out her eyes. And love at first sight became the last thing she ever saw.
The music crackles and he takes my hand for the very first time. The record spins, he spins me with it. We laugh. We dance. We kiss. His song is on repeat.
It becomes our song.
It plays at our wedding.
It plays our daughter to sleep. She plays it herself when she is sad. When she leaves home the house feels empty so we fill the rooms with music.
It plays as we grow old.
It plays when he is ill.
It plays at his funeral.
It plays when I get sick too.
The music crackles and he takes my hand for the very last time.
There’s something in the way you move that reminds me of him. It flickers across your face and changes you. Momentarily. And then you are back.
I wonder if it’s co-incidence or if my masochistic subconscious latched on to it as we fell in love. Worse still, I wonder if you picked it up from me. If I’ve been unwittingly carrying him in the way I hold myself.
It scares me sometimes in a way I struggle to explain. I have to remind myself that bad people have good traits too. And that some bad traits wore the masks of good ones and I shouldn’t hold the good ones responsible for that.
But it’s hard.
When you say, How was your day? What did you get up to? I hear, You better have a good excuse for not being here today. And you better not leave again any time soon.
Abuse can wear the face of concern. And now both of them give me chills.