When we finally meet again, will you remember me as I remember you? My thoughts are drawn to you like -how did you put it - like a moth to a flame. I am the moth, and you are the flame. All you need to do is ignite and I will gladly burn for you. The way your eyes light up whenever you discover something new, or the way your brassy copper hair shines under the moonlight, or that little snort when you laugh, or how freckles dot your cheeks and nose and shoulders and chest like stars dot the void of the universe.
I still wait for you, every night under the crystal willow where we first met. Under the leaves of diamond and silver where we last saw each other. Our names our still carved in the trunk, "Damian and Hero best friends forever." Remember when you carved it? We were so young back then, just a week after we first met. You cut yourself on that makeshift knife you made from the sharpened rocks we found in the floating rainbow river. I remember wishing that you would never feel pain like that again as you winced and deep red blood dripped down your finger. And then the cut closed, and the red liquid went away, and the knife would no longer scratch you. From that day forward you were invincible in our little dreamland, and we learned that we had the power to make anything possible.
You always had some sort of game for us to play, a new plan you wanted to try. And I was just so happy to be a part of it. To share this world with you with your crooked smiles and that glint of determination eyes. I was willing to follow you to the end of the universe. I still am.
I'm sorry for what happened that night. I should’ve listened I should've thought about your feelings. But when you came to me on the night of our eighteenth birthday with tears in your eyes wishing that you could just leave your world and live in your dreams forever all I wanted to do was hold you tight and kiss away your pain.
And then I did.
And you kissed me back, soft and slow, your fingers in my hair, my arms around your waist and for a moment it felt like things were going to be okay. But when you pulled away your eyes held sudden heavy sadness I’d never seen before. You kissed me again, soft and sweet like honey and then you were gone.
It's been three years since years since that day. I don't know if you've received any of the messages I sent out into your galaxy. I don't know if you'll ever get this one. But when I finally find your Earth -when I finally find you- I swear I'll hold you close and kiss every freckle on your body and hurt anyone who's ever wronged you. I wish I could have told you that night that we don't need anybody else. That we don't need this world or our dreams or even this universe because you are my universe. And as long as we're together we can create any world that we desire. When we first met you told me you’d call me Hero because I reminded you of your favorite superhero, but night after night you proved to be the hero of my dreams. I don’t care if it takes an entire lifetime to find you. You spent your nights saving me, now let me be the one to save you.
Love forever and always,
your Hero xx
Damian Herne (August 2, 20XX – August 3, 20XX)
On August 3, 20XX, the day after his eighteenth birthday, Damian Herne was found dead on the side of the road near his previous residence due to an overdose of doxepin. Damian was…
Do you believe in fairies?
Every night before bed, you would tell me a story from your childhood. Tales of the time you rode on the backs of elephant trees and drank from the blueness of the sky, or when you had a quiet tea party with the toadstools and braided vines of ivy. You took naps on patches of moss and learned how to sew from the tulips. But perhaps my favorite story was about the time you met the wish fairy.
Growing up, I wanted nothing more than to meet a fairy. Do you remember how I used to make hotels for them out of old cans of beans and place them in the little cigarette bud ridden box of dirt by the stairs amidst the concrete that surrounded our home? I never had much of a green thumb, the useless Mother’s Day flowers they forced me to take home from school always died the moment I tried to plant them, dollar store seed packets never sprouted no matter how much I watered them. I used to crouch down close to the weed ridden cracks and ask the clovers and the dandelions to tell the fairies to come visit me.
Do you remember when I lifted up a rock and picked up all the worms, millipedes, ants and pillbugs and put them in a jar? I had hoped they’d somehow lead me to the secret island where you had spent your youth.
That only resulted in a lecture from you on how all life is precious and should be treated with respect.
It’s on days like these when I think about you, when the sky is wrapped in a blanket of clouds and bellows with anticipation. More than when the sun shines bright and birds sing sweet tunes. More than when I take a hike into the forest and sketch the characters from those bedtime stories you told so long ago.
I used to think you were the greatest person who ever lived. You were always there for me, aways was so kind, always seemed to know just what I needed. You consoled me when people laughed at me for believing in fairies. You stood your ground when people told you that you shouldn’t raise a girl alone without a mother.
But now, sitting here with grass stained jeans, I can’t help but think of you as nothing more than a liar and a fucking coward.
As I grew up, I so desperately wished to know the truth. I wished to know why you ran away from your childhood island. If I had a mother or if I was adopted. Why all of the DNA tests I took came back with some unknown error. If those stories from your childhood were real.
But you never told me the truth, not in any records or writings or will. No known friends or family to make any revelations once you passed. You did nothing but lie and hide things. Just like you hid the disease from me until it was too late.
And now the truth is gone forever.
The wish fairy collects wishes in clouds. People’s hopes, their dreams, their deepest desires. She’s the only fairy that has ever left the island, barely seen by the naked eye. She’s the one who brings sweet dreams to children, uses nightmares to scare people into action. She’s the melody in a musician’s song, the photographer’s perfect angle, the vibrant colors in an artist’s pallet. But with every sigh of defeat the clouds grow darker. Everytime someone fails to find the motivation or settles with disappointment, their world grows a little more dull, and the clouds grow heavier.
When a person gives up on their dreams the wishes fall like rain.
You told me you met the wish fairy once when you had a desire so strong that you flew up into the clouds. She’d given you a seed and when you planted it, it bloomed into the most beautiful creature you had ever seen.
I always wished to know what it was.
The clouds glow with flashes of lightning, thunder roaring soon after. I don’t care about my drenched clothes or how frizzy my hair will be or the cold that will come soon after. I don’t care that the rain mixes with my tears until I can’t distinguish one from the other.
If wishes fell like rain, then certainly I am a storm.
I’m drowning in the shallow end of a pool, belly down, submerged in one foot of water. There’s a ladder in front of me, plastic grazing my fingertips. I could grab it if I wanted to. I could pull myself out. There’s no force keeping me here. I don’t need to drown. This is all easily preventable, if I could just stretch my arm a little more.
Most people don’t give up till they get lost in the ocean waves.
I live life through a plane of glass. Just outside is the blinding light of the sun, vibrant colors everywhere I look. There are people going about their daily lives, interacting with others, running errands. I want that too. The glass is easy to break, all it needs is a little push and-
My arms refuse to move. There are people talking in front of me, their words muffled. I cover my eyes before I could read their lips.
I’m trapped in a tower of my own making, captive in an unlocked cage. I can escape at any time, all I need to do is walk out. But everytime I try, all I do is shrink back further and further into the comfortable darkness.
Some days are better than others. I’ll regain feeling in my limbs, I’ll take a step towards the door. Sometimes I can force myself to pretend.
But every now and again I curl back up, crawl back in. My legs won’t work, my heart will sink. Days when I can barely get out of bed.