All of this love with no place to go.
An old piece demanding attention. I’ve given in.
An owlish stare belonged to a brunette standing by the tree. She was gazing at some who were holding their respective lanterns. Then, as if one had uttered a miserable excuse of a joke, they laughed uncontrollably before resuming their journey. Certainly they were going for the lantern festival. The frosh in the picturesque park eventually allowed a sigh to articulate.
Admittedly, she knew that if she wanted to go, she just would. The student wasn’t too particular when it pertained to company, and solitude would have been her first choice. Nevertheless, it would be evident for all to see that she wasn’t going to move. A part of her perpetually wondered as to why, oh why, that she continued being stubbornly stuck in the pages of yesterday and tomorrow simultaneously. It was ridiculous and repetitive to recognise that the past, albeit important, had its limits when one considered the present timeline. And the future was definitely a matter so terribly delicate, comparable to a fragile framework collapsing at the whim of a wind’s whisper. Preposterous. Stuck in her thoughts, then and there did a familiar explosion resound. The brunette looked toward the horizon and her eyes widened in wonderment.
Works of fire.
How horrible that a childish play of words threatened a diminutive smile to surface. Just so horrible, because it was probable that this was another reason why she decided against attending. She often thought that inanimate things could represent a human’s want or need, example being a blanket picturing warmth.
So did fireworks. They were more than a rich person’s way of finding visual entertainment. It was definitely a bearer of definitions larger than the space they occupied in the night sky. In her eyes, they were symbols of interminable warmth and renewal, perhaps even resembling a burst of emotion. An incandescent flame that burned passionately, in ardent adoration and everything like that. Sappiness was not the issue at hand. The real one was this.
Maybe she had been afraid that if she had gone there, being under those lucent lights and burst of gleaming sparks, it would make the brunette find a part of herself that she never wanted to discover. A passion she would rather live without. Maybe there was the possibility that if there was a someone by her side, the adrenaline rush embedded within would play tricks on her mind, causing her to feel and think of things she rendered unnecessary.
Then she laughed, a tinkling chime that sounded musical until a seemingly choked voice marred the expression. The forming of a supposedly easy laugh at absurdity had ended with sadness. Maybe it was both, for the girl herself had no longer known if it had been laughter or tears after all. Nevertheless, whatever it had been, the vibrant explosion of colours were capable of inducing distraction, even if it was only finite in value. Deep down, she knew that it was so likely that she was shortchanging her own self for no appropriate reason.
This destructive display of artwork — had it always been this pretty?
My favourite memory might not even exist in your head.
A smile small and nearly impudent, the peculiar pinch of eyes while thinking deeply.
Slow gentle clap of hands when things go well.
Tremor of the ground turning into courageous steps.
This yell, childlike brimming delight, when it comes to the matters you care best.
I wonder, I truly wonder if we can ever know all of ourselves, if we are fragmented stardust particles gleaming in lives other than our own.
So maybe I am your mirror just as you are mine.
And oh, how I desire that you will continue to shine a brilliant bright.
Your heart is ever so warm, like a woolly blanket I want to wrap myself in on a cold night.
“She was elusive. She was today. She was tomorrow. She was the faintest scent of a cactus flower, the flitting shadow of an elf owl. We did not know what to make of her. In our minds we tried to pin her to a cork board like a butterfly, but the pin merely went through and away she flew.”
— Jerry Spinelli’s Stargirl
Sadness doesn’t need to overwhelm in order to win. All it needs is a little corner, perhaps unused and shabby, a visitor that innocently says I’ll be here for a while, when it plans to set camp and forget where its own home was.
Why do people speak in the midst of a breaking?
Waiting for the boom of fireworks, the roar of a thunderclap
By the bedside of possible death, a wave of congratulations
Maybe this is it:
That humans have a softness for honesty
To see truth leave one’s trembling lips
To speak the unsayable because that makes it so incredible
Yet we fear consequence:
The rejection, the disgust, the ardent whispers turned into despicable shouting
We forget that consequence can also have a wellspring of affection:
The leaning of heads, an iron-grip hug, the removing of a dried leaf from one’s hair
We are animated dust kicking up a storm
Leaving sunshine and rain wherever we go
Footprints in the sand eventually swallowed by the mighty ocean
In spite of it all we aspire to be more than just this
We climb mountains, we search for new horizons
Finding for a place or someone reminding us to simply be
A map lost, and no place to return to
Yet one day, there will be a time when you will watch the sunrise reflected in their quiet eyes
Sleepy yawns gently tugging at the consciousness before a dangerous falling in
And when they ask why you have kept your eyes on them this is what you will say:
Once upon a time when no one knew
You defied the odds and became the neglected miracle in the dark
In a world filled with incalculable possibilities we are both here
I thank my God a thousand times for this incomparable moment
Blush they will, or turn away
Yet the sly sneak peek will show your shadow melting into theirs
This confession coming clear in spite of your speaking in the midst of a seashore breaking
Pick up a seashell, more than one
Build small emblems of devotion with driftwood and hard stones
Let them know, let them know, that even as you are playfully carving names in the ground
That their diminutive smile is a compass, mirthful laughter its tracks
A sign that there might be a home to go to
There is so much in a glance
Even as it lies wide open or a furtive sneak
There is so much more
I don’t need a love so adventurous, daring and impossibly cunning, thoughts of prince charmings or valiant foes.
All I would be in want for is a love so gentle, so subtle, like the faint touch of the elbow to show hey, I’m here to support you,
And I’m certain that kind of simplicity will do.
If memory is flexible, this is what it should remember:
The cold frigid air of midnight
Lightning broken and thundering drum
Cosy steamboat and unrestrained laughs
Shot in the dark, silver tail of the sky.
Not only these, but
Conversations leading to undiscovered roads
Upturned shoes of sleepiness
Eternal rounds of strawberries
Strangers then, now siblings in Christ.
Dear memory, please don’t become undone.
Your eyes are welling up with the tears you won’t cry.
(Would you let me reach in and help them dry?)