i'll miss you like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky
We all fall like stars, one moment of glory along the dark night sky and we soon descend, lost within the moment. Tears blind and hearts break, skin burns and bones snap. We are all broken, until the very end, and only then do we beg to be fixed, to be glued together like some broken china doll. I have fallen many times, and still, still my weary wings hold me up. As though made of glass, they only splinter yet do not shatter. I am surprised I am still here, still wandering the realm of Beqanna, as though some sort of burst star stream, having lost it's cause. And it's course.
Creamy wings unfurl, as I land. Worn hooves break the flurry of auburn and mauve, causing a multitude of fallen leaves to sashay by my weary limbs, my scarred frame. Each sinew strains, torn beneath my skin. Bones feel brittle, as though glass that has once been blown, and forgotten, left to deteriorate in the sun and the frost. I feel fragile, I feel broken, and most of all, I feel alone.
My children. I wonder, I wonder where they are. I wonder what happened to the woman I called mother, the woman that was, but never will be. I wonder many things, and these wonders feel like lead upon my shoulders as I walk across the leaf littered meadow, kicking at the oranges and browns, causing them to flitter and fall around me. Lost, and as limp as I feel.
I flicker, every now and again in and out of sight. the longer the loneliness etches and ebbs away at my heart, the longer I disappear and the longer it takes for me to reappear in flesh and bone. Perhaps one day, I will cease to exist, get lost within the line of the stars, lost within space, the thousand nebulas above. Perhaps heaven awaits, but no, no it is not heaven that will open it's pearly gates to me. I a destined for the fiery depths below. My mother had sold me, broken me, damaged me beyond repair. If there was hate in the world, that overflowed goblets and flutes, it would still not amount to the hate the pale mare feels for me. Her eyes, they still burn right through my flesh and deep into my soul.
My wings fall, flopping to the floor. Moth-eaten feathers picking up the autumn debris as I go. Collecting remnants of twig and gorse, of forgotten flowers and decaying leaves. I walk towards the riverbank, where I stand, simply, each limb pulling to a creaky halt. Glass-like eyes watch the crystalline waters, watch as the ripples distort my reflection. I am worn, worn down to the bone, to the core. How much longer can this go on? How much longer, can I remain, broken and lost within this world, before someone, someone notices me?
The hope is still there, at my feet in pieces. All I must do is pick it up with my shaking hands.
amnesia
the fallen angel