good night

"Where are you?" she whispers into the night. 

There's nobody there. Just the emptiness of the dark sky, the twinkling of the above stars taunting her. They used to provide comfort, a sense of higher being, or symbol for a love that she could one day achieve. Now they are just a reminder, a reminder of him. 

She's spent the day hiding in the meadows. "An attempt to return to her roots," she's been telling people. Hidden in the grass, surrounded by the flowers, the whistles of the wind taking with them all of her thoughts and leaving her cleansed and revitalised, ready to face another day. 

The reality? Amongst the fields of grass, as the sun beams hit the ponds in just the right places and the sound of birds chattering amongst themselves drowned out nearby strollers, she looked straight ahead. Crossed legged, hands lay on top of one another, grazing the worn denim of her jeans, she tried to not think about coaxing the tears that lay just behind her eyes. 

Her thoughts were nothing but cleansed, they were anything but nothing at all. They were one thing. 

Amongst the greatest beauty that the eye could behold, in a scene full of serenity and wonder, she wished for only one thing, for the greatest beauty she knew. She wished for your eyes, your hands, and above all your heart. 

For unrequited love was one thing, a pain she had learnt to suffer with, her callused heart ready for that type of wound. But absence and disappearance were new waters, like being coaxed into a lull sleep before struck. Her throat felt stuck, her mind a tangled necklace that felt almost too muddled to tackle. 

"Where was he?" she asked again, looking up at the sky as if the clouds would bow down to her forehead and answer her. 

Reality and delusion are a hard feat to understand, especially when you're trekking the tale alone. One side of the story, one interpretation, one heart. The absence can make you question it all - she knows she does. 

Her thoughts spiralled as she continued to look up to the stars. She wants to, but she doesn't, because for once, she wishes they would. She wishes they would chase her down the footpath, write letters as long as their love, see her in the chocolate bars, and send her songs that sound like her voice. She wishes for once that she could be loved in a way that isn't unrealistic, and she wishes that it didn't sound like she was asking for too much... was she? 

Sighing with exasperation, she finally moved her eyes back to the ground at her feet. As she put one foot in front of another, she didn't know what any of it meant, the sky had offered no clarity and it seemed nature couldn't either. Was there ever an explanation for love, was there even a metaphor that could describe such a thing? 

"Sometimes the things that grant you the most joy and pain, that incredible and soul-crushing sort of feeling, well those are the things that can never really be explained. Why do you think the poets spent their whole lives trying to?" she said, as she walked back to bed. 

- O