02-26-2017, 04:02 PM
It was easy, when the new year began, to believe this one would last forever. After all, I had no notion of how long a year was when I was only a few days old. It seemed an eternity, stretching forth into incomprehension, a hundred lifetimes between the start and the end. When summer was high and the whole world was green, it was easy to believe all of life would be so vibrant, pulsing with vitality, the air shimmering with heat and possibility.
But now.
Now, as another year draws to a close, as the weight of its ending presses in on me from all sides, all I see is a glowing white room and a glowing white girl and a noose slowly tightening around her, slowly constricting, just waiting for the right moment to crush the life out of her. I wonder still if I made the right choice, letting Time’s love die. I wonder still if there was some way to save her that would not have cost an already tumultuous world more than it could have handled.
So easy to forget when the world is green. But when snow blankets the Meadow and turns the world that same glowing white, she is all I see.
I used to love the snow, too, kicking up my heels and frolicking in an endless cloud of sparkling crystals, rolling and feeling it crunch beneath the weight of my coat, then mousy grey and fluffy, now the inky black velvet of the night sky. A sky without stars, just a dying crescent moon on my forehead to cast any light in the dark. I didn’t know the dark could be so heavy until the snow fell again, and the dying screams of the year about to pass started echoing in silent waves across my skin.
I try not to show it, though, try not to let Mom and Daddy and Uncle Kade see how it weighs me down, pressing in on me from all sides and making it hard to catch a breath sometimes. The crisp, cold air, sharp as knives and heavy as a velvet curtain about to draw on the end of this year’s life, catches in my lungs and god but it aches.
My steps are heavy as I trudge through the Meadow, doubt pressing down on me ‘til my head hangs lower than it should, ‘til my hooves drag trails in the snow instead of leaving precise hoofprints in the pristine blanket of white. And when even that glacial pace feels too hard, I give in and stand still, raising my head to look at the sky. Falling snow clings to my topline, settling on hips that seem to have grown faster than the rest of me, sticking in my mane and tail, catching on my lashes, lingering on my nose until a heavy sigh dislodges them.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling the tightness of that glowing noose constricting my chest the same way it closed around her. “I’m so sorry.”
But now.
Now, as another year draws to a close, as the weight of its ending presses in on me from all sides, all I see is a glowing white room and a glowing white girl and a noose slowly tightening around her, slowly constricting, just waiting for the right moment to crush the life out of her. I wonder still if I made the right choice, letting Time’s love die. I wonder still if there was some way to save her that would not have cost an already tumultuous world more than it could have handled.
So easy to forget when the world is green. But when snow blankets the Meadow and turns the world that same glowing white, she is all I see.
I used to love the snow, too, kicking up my heels and frolicking in an endless cloud of sparkling crystals, rolling and feeling it crunch beneath the weight of my coat, then mousy grey and fluffy, now the inky black velvet of the night sky. A sky without stars, just a dying crescent moon on my forehead to cast any light in the dark. I didn’t know the dark could be so heavy until the snow fell again, and the dying screams of the year about to pass started echoing in silent waves across my skin.
I try not to show it, though, try not to let Mom and Daddy and Uncle Kade see how it weighs me down, pressing in on me from all sides and making it hard to catch a breath sometimes. The crisp, cold air, sharp as knives and heavy as a velvet curtain about to draw on the end of this year’s life, catches in my lungs and god but it aches.
My steps are heavy as I trudge through the Meadow, doubt pressing down on me ‘til my head hangs lower than it should, ‘til my hooves drag trails in the snow instead of leaving precise hoofprints in the pristine blanket of white. And when even that glacial pace feels too hard, I give in and stand still, raising my head to look at the sky. Falling snow clings to my topline, settling on hips that seem to have grown faster than the rest of me, sticking in my mane and tail, catching on my lashes, lingering on my nose until a heavy sigh dislodges them.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling the tightness of that glowing noose constricting my chest the same way it closed around her. “I’m so sorry.”
pic by Qinni