when all the ships have turned to ash
i will be left unharmed, alone
i will be left unharmed, alone
Regrets, mostly.
That is what the dead speak of, then? I am not surprised. It is what the living sleep with. It is what plagues us when we are alone, when we are silent. It is what plagued me on this cliffside before she appeared; and they are what will return to me, when she leaves.
I say nothing, because there is nothing to say to her truth. The truth, which should be bitter, sounds only matter-of-fact from the young girl’s mouth. Her eyes are so clear, I think; so free of the weight that this magic will carry, one day. I nearly warn her. The dead, they speak to you now—but you do not know them.
Wait, until it is your mother. Wait, until it is your father. Wait, until your friends clamor for your ear. She is so young, and death seems so far, even when strangers find her with their regrets. Perhaps I am overthinking—overstepping…and yet…
Things they wanted to say but never could. I think you find your moment of clarity—after.
She is direct, and then shy, in her glances. I glance down at her, as we wade through the tall grass. I can hear the sea, still; and I can feel it in the humidity. “Or the courage.”
We are cowards when we live.
Yes. We don’t live far. I nod, wondering—will Elena find us? I nearly hope for it. I am too severe for children. I know the longer I spend with her, the more likely I am to say something too harsh, to inappropriate. If I find your friend, does that mean we get to be friends?
I am taken aback by the question. I had been distracted, looking for a way out of the encounter—but when she asks, with such genuineness, I cannot help but allow my attention to snap back to her. She is looking at me, again. She is looking at me with blue eyes that are too serious for such a young face.
“We can be friends either way, Elliana.” I offer her a smile. It is sadder and smaller than I mean for it to be. “The friendship isn’t in the bargain. It’s in that you stayed to help me look.”
☼
That is what the dead speak of, then? I am not surprised. It is what the living sleep with. It is what plagues us when we are alone, when we are silent. It is what plagued me on this cliffside before she appeared; and they are what will return to me, when she leaves.
I say nothing, because there is nothing to say to her truth. The truth, which should be bitter, sounds only matter-of-fact from the young girl’s mouth. Her eyes are so clear, I think; so free of the weight that this magic will carry, one day. I nearly warn her. The dead, they speak to you now—but you do not know them.
Wait, until it is your mother. Wait, until it is your father. Wait, until your friends clamor for your ear. She is so young, and death seems so far, even when strangers find her with their regrets. Perhaps I am overthinking—overstepping…and yet…
Things they wanted to say but never could. I think you find your moment of clarity—after.
She is direct, and then shy, in her glances. I glance down at her, as we wade through the tall grass. I can hear the sea, still; and I can feel it in the humidity. “Or the courage.”
We are cowards when we live.
Yes. We don’t live far. I nod, wondering—will Elena find us? I nearly hope for it. I am too severe for children. I know the longer I spend with her, the more likely I am to say something too harsh, to inappropriate. If I find your friend, does that mean we get to be friends?
I am taken aback by the question. I had been distracted, looking for a way out of the encounter—but when she asks, with such genuineness, I cannot help but allow my attention to snap back to her. She is looking at me, again. She is looking at me with blue eyes that are too serious for such a young face.
“We can be friends either way, Elliana.” I offer her a smile. It is sadder and smaller than I mean for it to be. “The friendship isn’t in the bargain. It’s in that you stayed to help me look.”
@Elliana"speaks" space for notes
