ORIGINS: We saw a cloaked figure in the nose of the fifth character in the original series. And we wondered what someone like that would throw to the winds.
I believe that autumn leaves should be for the wind, not for the ground, my love. I don’t want to watch you rot. I don’t want you to change, until you become someone else. Someone I won’t recognize. I would rather the wind carried you out of my sight, leaving only memories in my heart. Familiar memories. That won’t smell of rot, and won’t sound like heartbreak.
I know what happens when wishes don’t come true. It hurts. And I think I have finally figured out why wishing upon dandelions hurts so much more than wishing upon the stars. It’s because I break off a lungful of my soul, one breath, as if it were a branch, to try and grow a tree full of green leaves that smell of hope. And when nothing comes of that wish, the pain finds its way back to me. Because, unlike the tail of a shooting star, that breath is a nerve ending that grew from my soul and will always be connected to me. But I like dandelions. There is something about wishing upon untouchable stars that makes me want to cry, without even trying to put my wish into words. But I am not ready to give up hope. Not yet. So, I will ask the wind to blow this dandelion for me.
I’m about to grow up. It’s time to say goodbye to the stars in my eyes. If I could, I would rip them out of my eyes, and with blood dripping from my fingers, I would offer them to the wind. There would be a gust. More of the same pain. And then my stars would be up there, among all the other small dots that are so easy to ignore. But only hearts can be ripped out of chests. The stars cannot be touched. And I know that mine will just fall, like tears, to the ground. I will grow up. And disappointment will darken my world. Because, unlike the wind, the ground doesn’t forget, it doesn’t make things disappear. Wounds fester. And my stars will never be out of sight. I will spend my life comparing everything to them. And disappointment will keep oozing out of their grave.
I don’t need these tears. I have decided to get rid of them before they change my mind. Red is the color of love and, by extension, happiness. Red belongs in the heart, not in the eyes, and I refuse to let it become the color of hurt. Not on my watch. So, I will throw all my tears to the wind, where I won’t have to see them ever again.
Don’t be angry. I know that red is the color of blood, and that makes it the color of life, but Autumn isn’t mocking you. Autumn never meant to hurt your feelings. It was supposed to be a gift, a swan song, if you will. Autumn just wanted you to have one last chance to shine. To bleed, giving your all. Don’t you think that’s preferable to the white of ghosts? To all those regrets that sound like the songs you never got to sing? I do. I would use my last breath to say thank you and goodbye, and then I would close my eyes, trapping that color while it was still fresh, so that I could take the reddest of reds to my grave. And nothing more.
Would you like me to tell you a beautiful lie? I can do that. When Autumn marks you for death with a touch of red, you won’t fall to the ground. You won’t rot away like all the other leaves. A gentle breeze will come to carry you to the horizon, where you will get to choose between a sunrise and a sunset. Pink gives way to blue. Red gives way to black. You can be either remembered or forgotten. It will be your choice. Your gift to those you leave behind. And you shouldn’t let anyone else tell you which color leads to sadness and which color leads to hope.
I don’t feel like a lion anymore. I used to be bright and round like the sun. Nothing was missing. But then my yellow faded into this pale, breakable white. And now there are more wishes in my breath than I know what to do with. Should I growl? Is that it? Should I growl, and growl, and keep growling, until those wishes come true? I want to feel whole again. Yellow. Happy. I want my crown back. But what if breathing life into those wishes is what finally breaks this white thing I have become?
I did it. I put my wishes into words. There were holes in my heart. Holes I desperately needed to fill. And I blew a thousand dandelions, because I saw the same holes in them. But none of my wishes came true. And now I feel like I have lost something irretrievable. The hope that was pinned to my heart. Keeping it in place. Keeping it from floating away. Before I breathed my last breath.
I was never afraid of the dark. The Spiders were what kept me up at night. Their web glistening with tears. The light of all those long-dead stars. I knew that I was safe during the day. Out of their reach. Because I didn’t have wings, only heavy burdens weighing me down. But I had no say in my dreams. Those wild, colorful butterflies didn’t listen to me. They took wing, like a last breath, putting as much distance as possible between their colors and the heart that had already started to rot in my chest. And it wasn’t long before fear led to hate. I hated falling asleep. I hated knowing that all dreams end in tears. But eventually I ran out of butterflies, and everything turned alright. Now I sleep soundly at night. Because there is enough darkness inside my chest, to drown out my sobbing heart.
I don’t need a whole galaxy. I just need a star to kiss me goodnight. I need to see, hear, smell, taste and touch a little bit of light. I need to bury my bones in it, and seal that grave with a kiss. Before it’s too late. Before any more hope bleeds out of me, and only empty words are left inside my bones. Please, Spiders, just please. It shouldn’t be too much to ask. I have seen winged creatures fall into your trap before. Yours is the web that keeps this universe together, and all I am asking for is one little star.
There are tears under my pillow. But I don’t remember putting them there. Last night I went to sleep. I had a beautiful dream. Stars rained all over me, and I felt it in my very bones. They promised me green, green hope. I felt those stars taking root. Those tears shouldn’t be there. I don’t want them there. Pillows are the perfect box for storing dreams. Happily-ever-afters. Pillows are the next best thing to writing things in stone. Tears shouldn’t be allowed to run away with my happiness, leaving a trail of hopelessness directly to my heart. Please, someone, just please. I can’t have them there, pointing the way for all my future dreams.
Everybody cries. It hurts, but it’s not the end of the world. Tomorrow when I wake up, the grass will be glistening with dew. There will be green all around me. The brightest green. Because grass doesn’t give up. It keeps getting trampled, but it holds on to hope. And I will do the same. I will cry tonight. And tomorrow will be a brighter day.