Open the Door

Last night I dreamt I met you at the top of a mountain.

You were whispering to me in the darkness, but I could hear nothing more than the howling wind. I looked deep into your eyes: past my reflection. Past the sullen green. Past the tiny atoms. I looked deep into the darkness and I saw a small flickering flame. I gasped as it grew stronger—singeing your lashes and sending wisps of blue smoke into the night.

It was only a fleeting moment before the flame died out and you turned to ice; cracks spreading across your cheeks like spider webs. My hands flew to your face, but slipped on your glassy skin. Before I could hold you in my arms, the wind pushed past me and sent you tumbling over the edge.

At the base of the mountain I found you shattered into a million pieces, each one glinting like a shiny tooth. I sifted through the shards, staring intently at their patterns; finding tiny memories of you locked safely within.

The way you curl you hands closely to your body when you sleep:

I must keep this one.

Your laugh: resonating and honest, robust yet child-like:

I love this one.

The way you hold me close to your chest and kiss me, as if I hold the answers to all of your questions:

I cannot live without this one.

I gathered each piece in earnest, surrounded by your presence: lost in thoughts of you. But for each of the pieces I picked up, another would slip from my grasp, falling silently back down to the earth. I collapsed to the ground, frustrated in my futile attempts, holding my head in my hands as I cried.

Through the tears, I looked around at your pieces spread out before me and began to count them. I counted long into the night: through the setting moon and rising sun. As the warmth surrounded me, the shards began to melt away, and I sat back in stunned silence.

Surrounded by a million billion pieces of you, I was overwhelmed by your graces, overwhelmed by your accomplishments, overwhelmed by your love. As the last sliver of your remains melted away, I stood up, unsure which direction I had come from—which direction to go. I looked down at my clenched fist, slowly uncurling my fingers, revealing a tiny object grasped tightly beneath...

....one solitary piece of you left in my hand; pale blue in its reflection of the sky. I stared at it, safely locked away, never more grateful to have known a million billion pieces of you.

Plus that one.


All my love C.

[callie].