Andie Kliene, Grade 10
She can hear him, but it is only a whisper in her long forgotten mind. His voice is like a soft breeze, it feels cool on her skin, it feels good. She waits because that’s all she’s ever known. She doesn’t rush to meet him, nor cower and hide, she waits. As soon as she looks up at the sky she notices the stars splayed out over the curtain of deep blue. There are no wonders or supernovas, all the adventures, the games, the joy is gone. And will always be gone.
If the connection was already fading its gone now. Perhaps it’s only right she thinks, perhaps it is better this way. Her mind isn’t very convincing. Liquid starshine splashes across the barren ocean in her mind. She has him, but not him. Never again. No more sweet nothings, fleeting glances, lingering touches. She’s tired of waiting now, standing at the back, in a blurred haze. She had shot for the sky, now chained to the ground. The iridescence of the starlight radiates onto her solitary form.
What’s left of her is an empty shell. All life has ebbed away; all her life and dreams are still in the sky. With him. Always with him. He is, was and will always be everything. Every single second, every single moment of her infinite universe screams his melodic name. This life will never be enough. No matter how elaborate or ornate her birdsong music is, it will always be drowned out by the sound of his name. She clutches it to her soul, keeps it tucked away within her bulletproof box.
The moonshadow above her forms a swirling river of glass at her feet. She doesn’t cry, nor does she weep. She bleeds him a river.
She can’t carry it all. The stars are burning too brightly; the universe is slipping out of her head. She tries to grasp the wind whispering into her ear, but it just slips. She can hear it but she can’t. It’s like being stuck behind a wall eleven metres thick. The stars fall from her eyes, the galaxies pour from her heart and the blue, blue box sits safely in her soul. The pulsars create a garden, surrounding her with soft glows of colour and warm, comforting heat. The blue, blue box stirs from its resting place within her troubled soul. He’s in there, in the box, deep within her soul.
She can’t kindle the fire, because it’s not there. She can bask in its heat but it’s just a dazzling illusion. The planets bend between her thoughts; a tunnel opens inside her head. She fumbles for it, she falls for it and it’s gone. The wind tugs at her ear persistently, he’s there, and she knows he’s there. Just around the corner, but she’s frozen in the moment. Warm yellow light tumbles into her head. This time she doesn’t reach out for it, she lets it find its own way through the wreckage.
The whispers turn into a chorus of harmonies, illuminating her mouth as she struggles to find the right reply. He gives her time, because he is time. He gives himself to her. Even the angels of stone could not keep them from creating the bridge between the crystal hourglass.
The cold solstice is resolute. The colours spread out before her, over her and through her. The tears she shed fall and disperse embers through her flame. The stars pulse with her every breath.
Not just hovering now, she is flying.