ORIGIN: Look at that nose. Don’t be shy, use a magnifying glass and a little bit of imagination. Someone is behind the door, playing hide-and-seek. We didn’t mean to ruin the fun, we just couldn’t leave without depicting both sides of the door.
It’s raining outside. Or maybe it’s just dark. Your bones get the gist. You can’t go through life sheltering in doorways. Not anymore. There has to be something on the other side. Imagine it if you have to and just open that door. Before your bones drown. And you lose all hope of ever getting back on your feet.
Dreams change. Priorities change. Attitudes change. Snakes shed one skin after another until the day they die. But they stay true to their pattern. Unlike human hearts. My dreams. My priorities. My attitude. Those are the things that make me who I am. But hearts beat and clocks tick. People are bound to change. However, in our case, every tick marks a death. And I just wish I could have smashed my clock to pieces. Because I only ever felt comfortable in one skin. I never ticked past 4 o’clock. Someone else did. She wore full mourning until the day this heart beat past her, and the time came, for someone else to wear those hand-me-downs.
I was born with the curiosity of a cat. That was my blessing. That was my curse. I looked far and wide, with all my heart, but the answers I found lying around were nothing short of disappointing. I set out looking for magic, but there are cold, hard facts as far as the eye can see. Lukewarm stars. My heart reduced to ashes. And I am ready to shut myself away. To turn the page and my ashes into pencils. I don’t know if magic can rise from ashes, but I am ready to write my own answers and give it a try.
My lies have no place in this world. I am a wolf. Fairytales run through my veins. Happily-ever-afters. Like the moon at its brightest. I try to be good. I want to earn my happy ending and feel like I deserve it. But the world keeps telling me that wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing doesn’t mean what I think it does. Ruthless people with a taste for blood have the widest smiles. But that is not who I want to be. I won’t listen to the blood in my mouth. Not while there is still moonlight in my veins. Goodbye. I will look for a place where clothes do make the man and people get what they deserve.
When I was knee-high to a grasshopper, the world seemed like such a big place. My heart was a spring, and every beat took me to the moon and back. Then came the first day of school, and I was told to broaden my horizons. There was no dress code, but 12 years later most everybody left singing the same tune. It’s a small, small world. My spring is a little bit rusty, but I am not one to give up hope. I still remember how grasshoppers produce sound. They rub their legs against their wingcases to create a buzz. And as soon as I remember what my laughter is supposed to sound like, I will set out. I will run. I will fly. Beyond the moon. Somewhere that hasn’t been globalized yet.
What are you doing hiding behind that door? Are you playing hide-and-seek? Your hands are trembling. Is that anticipation I see sparkling in your eyes? I hope it comes to find you soon.
I like swans. They remind me of dreams. All you have to do is close your eyes and wait. The colors flock to you. In swirls and bold strokes. Wings do that too. One for every visible star in the night. And then you wake up. Without having had to break a sweat. Or tears. Or blood. Unearned. That’s the word I am looking for. Ugly ducklings just wait until they grow white feathers. Beauty comes to their rescue. And that is what I want. To lie in my bed and wait for a dream to alight on my eyes. But it’s been ages since I last saw a star. Yes. Let’s go with that. Saying that dreams can’t be bothered would hurt too much.
I’m an owl, but wisdom hasn’t found its way to me yet. People learn by experience, but I am all eyes. Far-sighted. Safe. That’s what I am meant to be. I was put on this earth to watch and learn from a safe distance. From other people’s experience. Where I don’t have to suffer the consequences. My eyes are a bottomless inkwell, and I have an endless supply of quills. What you see after sunset is me filling out a diary. Not mine, obviously. Who knows, maybe tonight I will fill out yours. I just wish I didn’t have to read between the lines. Once, just once, I would like to write down something that isn’t a mistake. A wise choice. An example I can follow. Not a wind I have to fly against.
I want to feel special. Pretty. Loved. I want someone who will lie to me. Convincingly. Someone who will tell me that the white spots on a deer’s fur are stars. Deciders of fate. Not just camouflage. I want to have a say. I want to be heard. Somebody at my beck and call. Even if it’s just until he gets what he wants.
I feel like the last monster in the box. Hope. That persistent, stale leftover, that just won’t rot without a trace. I hate breadcrumb trails. Lost is lost. There’s no going back home. It’s been too long. I don’t even remember what it looks like. But I am still waiting for somebody to come and find me. Faceless. Nameless. I am still waiting, when I could already have found my way out. All because that useless, crippling hope refuses to rot into oblivion.
Everyday life is more than enough monotony for me. I put up with it, and I never forget to paste a smile on my face. Just for that, I deserve a different dream every night.
Curiosity might have killed the cat, but wisdom doesn’t discriminate. It didn’t just kill my curiosity, it also broke my heart and buried the stars in my eyes. I’ve experienced enough. I don’t need anymore.
Only two types of lies get a free pass. Lies that spare someone else’s feelings and lies that make someone else feel special.
Most birds don’t change their tune, not even in captivity. Hopeful hearts are much the same. Setting hope free is the kindest thing you can do for yourself. Unfortunately, you don’t get a say.