ORIGINS: Once again, don’t ask where that face came from. Just look at the eyes. They reminded us of a long, dark-haired ghost, lazily haunting every waking thought of some poor child.
Do you really have to ask? My eyelashes were put to the scissors as soon as I was born. They thought that my eyelashes would grow longer, stronger, more alluring. They cut them all, with my best interests at heart. They didn’t leave me anything to wish upon when I needed it the most. There was no magic, no innocence, in the thing that grew back. Only harsh reality. And to this day I am still haunted by that loss.
Something was missing. There was a hole. It felt like air was always leaking from my lungs. I couldn’t keep it there, no matter how deep I breathed. I spent my childhood trying to patch myself together. But the pieces of tape I used kept coming unstuck. I took, and took, and took. I can’t remember how many snails I depleted. But that doesn’t answer your question, does it? Let me try again. I will never know if there ever was love in the air. But I can tell you that now all I breathe is guilt.
The phone is there. Right there. I can see it perfectly well; there’s no need to point it out. But it hasn’t rung. Not once, in all these years. And I won’t let myself cave in. The silence may be haunting me, but I am in the right. It’s not my phone call to make.
Haunt is such a strong word. How about linger? Particles of dust in the light. Yes, let’s go with that. Dreaming made me happy, and I left it at that. I didn’t try to make that dream a real part of my life. But it’s still here. By my side. Dead skin floating in the air. And it doesn’t hurt. I am not at its mercy. All I have to do is turn off the lights. Close that jewelry box.
There you have it. That’s what my homesickness looks like. Salt water and sand. What could be more haunting than that? In and out. That tide was my metronome. I couldn’t care less about my heart. That tide spoke to my lungs. In and out. I wasn’t loved. But I knew peace. And that is what I miss. What this noise has taken away from me.
You told me to paint homesickness, and that is what I have done. My home wasn’t four walls, it was the three people that lived there. They are gone. And those are their burial mounds. I would have preferred an unmarked grave. But hearts don’t like flat lines. Don’t they look just like setting suns? Forever haunting the horizon. With no night in sight. No oblivion. No peace. That is why love is a sickness. Because I will always have them in my heart.
Sure, I will bite. You can’t miss something you have never had. But I can only think of those stars, so, what word would you use for something you have only ever seen from afar? For something you have pinned all your hopes and dreams on? I like love’s lies better than its truths. Maybe that makes me a child, but something that hurts, something that disappoints, doesn’t deserve my homesickness.
I won’t give power to your words. I am neither homesick nor haunted. My heart is a forest. Sunlight streaming through leaves. Fond memories. That’s my solace. The warmth that keeps me company and walks beside me through this life.
Left: Don’t you have someone better to haunt?
Right: Are you talking to your ghost?
Left: I am certainly not talking to you. The brotherly love we have is nice and forgettable.
Right: Good to know.
Left: Why can’t I wash her off? Haven’t I cried enough?
Right: Don’t pay her any mind. She wants a storm, but you don’t have to be that type of cloud. Use your imagination and distract yourself with happier thoughts. It’s what I do.
Left: I don’t mind being treated like a doll. I won’t be a child forever. One day I will dress myself, and I will find my own words. But I don’t like knowing that the flowers of my dress come from some ghost that couldn’t care less about me. If mother loves us, why doesn’t she use her own words to raise us?
Right: You have got it all wrong. It’s not a ghost. It’s a legacy. Mother watered those flowers, and one day it will be our turn to keep this beautiful definition of love alive.
Left: I have grown up. I am not the same child I once was. I have outgrown this ghost. It hurts. Why doesn’t she go away? I want to wear a pair of shoes my size. I don’t want to be haunted by guilt anymore. I want to move on. But every step I take hurts more than the last.
Right: Here’s a thought. Why don’t you stay where you are? If you wallow in your guilt long enough, someone is bound to take pity on you. Who knows, maybe they will even soothe you and help you forget that ghost.