The beauty of promises is long-forgotten like a dropped ring underneath the closet. The agonising joy in anticipation…does it exist anymore? Yesterday, I found that ring under the closet. The dull silver beckoned to me, inviting me to don its patience and faith. The old thing would never make it in today’s fashion, but at the same time, it establishes a standard of its own. Have you dropped a ring under your closet, too? I hope that you’ll find it if you did.
Carefully, a vertical stroke of ink lifts from the page. Thin lines branch out and up from the trunk, black against a gradient wash of pale rose to soft blue-grey. Another tree arises, and another.
When the sounds of brush on paper ends, all of them stand quietly. This is the forest in winter.
Because you give me hope –
Past all the broken signs,
All the cracks in the road.
Colour has no meaning:
Why dare to dream
When it is just a dream?
Everything to me.
Breath, water, heartbeat –
You are what it means to live.
For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.
– Philippians 1:21
Beside the baby Sofia was a doe-eyed little doll called Miss Suffering. On the other side was Mr Hope, a perfectly huggable teddy bear. According to Sofia’s immaculate timing, the pair eventually became married and had a child, a little amorable blanket. He was called Endurance, or Ennie, for short. Ennie didn’t know this, but before he came around, Mother and Father used to fight a lot. But, as Sofia liked to tell him, the older Ennie grew, the more amazingly his parents got along. In time, Ennie and his parents met their end. Or as Sofia would say, in God’s good time, since just before they left, Endurance’s adopted son, quiet Strength, had found himself a home in Sofia’s heart. They lived happily ever after. The End.
The walls reverberate with the roars of my heart, and though there’s few there to hear me, the voices of the abandoned, the ignored, and the lost still pour unnoticed from the vents. On the other side which I have not seen, there is an dam of sorrow on the verge of overflow.
“Is anyone doing anything?” I cry out. Your hands hold mine in answer. My hands are tiny compared to Yours, let alone my mind and my heart.
Yes, You are always near, wherever we walk. Even the bad can be for good because the impossible doesn’t exist with You. The sky stretches over my head and of those stranded on their islands.
Yes, though my hands are small, You can do great things through them. If I can use them according to Your will, that is an honour. I am reaching out to You, who will one day dry these tears once and for all.
My hair sweeps across my cheek as the cherry blossom petals shiver. The impression you left has remained in my hand since the night you took me to the festival. Far away, in my imagination, the chatter of the crowd warms the air, but here, it is cold. It is pointless, to think of you, yet again. But in a way, loneliness is no longer my companion. These memories in my heart warms the tips of my fingers as a sliver of my emotions slips out into a smile. For you, is it the same? Will you remember me?
There’s a girl floating…?
Mid-air – look! – she’s skipping down an invisible staircase, jumping down two, now three, steps at a time. The midnight stars soared above her, while I tried to catch my breath. Her feet danced to my thudding heartbeat, and her arms were wide open, laughing.
“Wow…” I didn’t question why or how, but I wanted to be there, too. Did I dare to speak? Whether she heard me or not, her face turned: I saw her passionate eyes and she saw mine.
Suddenly I was afraid. Petrified. All the thoughts I should have thought flooded my brain and paralysed me. Poor soul, I resigned myself, in the end it was curiosity that killed you.
Then those frozen seconds melted.
“Could I…join you?”