106.

The fear remains simple. I am afraid that one day, my quiet spirit will no longer be sufficient in the envelopment of this space.

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105.

You say, that for a person so magical surely shooting stars would work their wishes for me.

I deny this a hundred times, yet I will embrace it as a truth if it will bring you back to me. This is what you do: without waiting to test the truth of my apparent character, you vanish into smokeless vapour.

Time drifts. I have taken dozens of dandelions by its roots and lain awake for 11:11s but you remain obscure to me. The sound of my breathing is too claustrophobic in this quiet.

Before you took to your leaving, I have expressed my affections: that to me you are a glowing ember, that I drew ever so closely to your brilliant being. You only smile and hope to be so, but tell me over and over to be realistic lest I am disappointed. I wonder now if I have piled upon your shoulders a burden overwhelming, that my feelings a net tangling the feet.

A lighthouse, this is what I will build as I wait for you. If I am to you a light, I will make this stand on a ground where the oceans of many meet. Day by day will I see myself on the edge, writing letters and throwing bottles of hope into the gulf.

If I am to wish a wish come true, let it be that one will come by your line of sight. Small as it is, may it rock your boat and set a wind in your sail to the shore where I stay.

You are a sailor, lost in your distant wandering and let my pieces be the north star that guides you home.

104.

You see in me more worth than the measuring cup I take to myself.

Where I see useless stones, Your loving eyes tell me that there are hidden diamonds quietly being unearthed, each with their own time.

Shaky unfinished form that I am, I will step deeper into this faith knowing that it is one that causes even the unturned rocks to cry out in praise.

100.

He said, you’re not like other children

The disappointment of a father evident

Hiding the tears of a sobbing wife

Shunning leers from prying neighbours

 

He said, you’re not like other children

Depending on the boy’s mood

He cries profusely into pillows

He makes mad crayon sketches across the wall

 

He said, you’re not like other children

Finding symbols in things unmeant

Hearing what others cannot

Seeing all the colours in invisible light

Feeling the cracks on the floor

 

He said, you’re not like other children

Insistently speaking to a twin who is not there

Drawing friends with no eyes

Watching trapped bugs melt in spider webs when others would choose to play with dogs and cats.

99.

So much power in the act of writing, or so I choose to place my faith in. I have written letters for people with no faces and no names, crafting pieces for an unknown recipient. I do not think that I am foolish for trying something unreturned, for who knows if in these secret doings will someone find reason to hope again?

Leave a scattering on the car window, pages of old, table worn and other possible places. Run like the wind, don’t get caught or the magic spell may find itself undone.

In my timid heart I do fear that I may be playing with fire, but I will continue building and see if there is more than this fragile house of cards.

97.

Pinpricks of light, wandering stars gravitating toward a force bigger than their own.

Though frequently perceived as shy and ordinary, small and obtuse, two individuals are running to chase a distant falling. Eyes that forget to keep to their feet, fists clenched are released and raised frantically. Darkness and tangled roots, damp grass and twisty trunks, feet that meet and trip.

I’m sorry, she says abashed, picking up the other’s glasses. I’m chasing a shooting star.

A hand stretches to take what is his, and a smile grows across the face.

So am I, he quietly admits. I can’t let something beautiful die without anyone ever knowing it. It would be a real waste.

Blink.

Would you catch it with me?