ORIGINS: This was us walking down memory lane once again. The fifth character in the original series is dead. His arms are crossed over his chest. He is ready to be buried, but his necktie caught our eyes. It could have easily passed for the beak of an owl, making his hands the owl’s ear tufts. But we had to play nice. We had to let him rest in peace. So, we took this series to a graveyard.
This is me burying an owl in my chest. The little bit of wisdom you left behind instead of saying a proper goodbye.
Birds can only fly so high. All the talent in the world won’t lift you closer to the stars, my child. And anyway, dots are meant to be connected. Make friends. Accept your mediocrity and reap some benefit. It’s better than empty air on an empty stomach.
Forget the light, my child. Life is already written in the stars, and shadows won’t offer you a way out. Don’t waste the little time that you have on something that’s out of your control. Choose the night. Become a nocturnal bird. And don’t let anyone else have a say in your dreams.
Angels fall like ice cream cones to the ground. Life doesn’t have anything but disappointment in store for those that try to be good. Just make peace with the dirt under your feet, and don’t go looking for your happiness in the sky.
Don’t shorten your childhood. The stars will fall from your eyes soon enough, don’t help them along. Dream. Look forward to your future while you are still ignorant of the realities of this life. Don’t deny yourself the gift of knowing that, once, your laughter rang true.
You didn’t want to be laid to rest in my chest. You chose wings instead of roots. But no wind shall deny me this goodbye. Here’s your name. This is the last time I will breathe life into it.
You don’t get to turn into a ghost. You have no right to regret anything. You made a choice. You flew. And now that you have rotted away, there will be no constellation in my heart. I will forget you. That’s my choice. If you wanted pity, you should have asked the worms to connect your particles of dust. You would have had a better chance of getting it.
I don’t believe in Heaven nor in Hell. People never get what they deserve. But you didn’t have anyone else, and what I said went. You wanted to touch the stars, and I could have given you that. I could have burned your remains and let you decide whether that fire was Heaven or Hell. But you started something you didn’t finish, and I hope you enjoy the cold.
You foisted me off on somebody else. And I guess now it’s my turn. There. A stone-cold angel that will always mourn you. Done. If only finding someone to love me had been just as easy, right?
I can finally move on. My childish heart held out hope, but at least it understands the line Until death do us part. You didn’t give me what I needed while you were still alive, and your worms certainly won’t give it to me now. So, thank you for setting me free and letting me take my eyes off that past that never was.
The owls thought that they knew all there was to know. In the dark, life twinkled true. But somewhere along the way the rules changed. Two and two don’t make four anymore. And the angels can only offer their stony condolences. They can only mourn those owls that in another time and place would have lived long.
The angel knows that trees are born into roots, just like birds are born into wings. You can’t have a say when you don’t have a voice. It’s out of your hands. First, time has to flow. Like tears down your cheeks. Only when they flow into your mouth do you get to choose. The past. The future. Do you see the gnarled branches of those trees? They chose the past. They chose to root in their memories because the sky only offered them empty air.
Knowledge is the death of every owl. It’s written in the stars. It’s written in stone. Darkness outnumbers the stars. And sooner or later life turns into a twisted, ugly thing in every winged creature’s eyes. That’s why this angel was carved with her eyes closed. But the owls refuse to give up the ghost. Stubbornly, they cling to hope and end up growing into trees. They try to take wing. To flock together and change the numbers. But they have seen too much. And gnarled branches is as far as they go before rotting away for good.
The angel is there to lead you to a better place. To welcome you into her loving embrace. But the owls are here to remind you that stone is cold and you are who you are. A change of air won’t help. You will carry your unhappiness along with you, all the scars life has left in you. And it won’t be long before that better place starts reminding you of the place you can’t leave behind.
Poor thing. The ghost you were carved for followed the light. Your work here is done. But the birdcage remains closed. You are trapped in someone else’s grief. They have moved on. To smiles and frowns that have nothing to do with that ghost. Leaving you trapped in this mournful birdsong. They have washed their hands, and Time has stained tears down your eyes. I can’t help you fly. But I have seen what the sun does for the moon, I have felt it on my skin, and I will do the same for you. I will warm you up, and at least your unending song won’t go unheard.
Interlaced fingers. A prayer held close to the heart. You were carved to hold on to the grief, so that your charge may rest in peace. I didn’t pay for you, someone else did, but your charge used to be my home, and grief is not the right word. I am homesick. There are no words. There are no tears. Someone else got you off his chest. Relief. He wanted to resume his life, and you were his answer. But I can’t move on. I had a home. And even if you tell me that my homesickness isn’t welcome here, I have nowhere else to go. So, do your job. Squeeze all the silence out of my heart, and let me be.
Right: An angel with her wings spread wide open and grief written all over her face. That’s what I deserve. Every child needs to know that they matter. More than the sky and the dreams that float in it, like particles of dust in sunlight. Because where dreams are concerned, most efforts amount to nothing. But every crumb of attention shapes a child in one way or another.
Left: Wrong. If you really mattered, that angel would have no wings left. She wouldn’t have shed a single tear. Only her feathers. And you would know that you aren’t forgettable. That you stand out against the bluest sky. If you really mattered, you wouldn’t still have to compete for her time, like you did when you were alive.
If there is such a thing as an afterlife, I want a one-winged angel watching over my grave. Making sure that the ugly, disappointing facts of life stay six feet under. I don’t want comparisons to keep ruining my contentment. It’s already hard enough to find beauty in this life. If it is going to be overshadowed in death too, I would rather step into oblivion.
Take me under your wing. Lend me a hand. Life has rules, but no one bothered to explain them to me, and I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes on the other side. I don’t want to spend eternity playing for fun. The prize is contentment, and this time I would like to play to win.
