Oct 29 2008
The Things She Said
She said what was gone could never come back. That it was floating in the never now, that far-off thing that resides within each of us. She said good-bye to the things she loved, as if she could never see them again. Because for her, reality was what she thought she saw. Not what she knew in her mind.
She said catching hope in a jar is easy. The hard part is letting hope go. Because pretty soon you’ll have no more room for hope, and it will become just a word, no longer something transcending language. Just hope, a definition in our brains, not our hearts.
She said she tried to run but her shoes won’t tied. And when she stopped to tie them, she hfell behind, and now she was floating in space, cold and alone. She said she wanted to cling to materialism, but it slipped away. She said she wanted to find you, but you disappeared. And so all these things she said, she said to herself quietly in the dark. That is where greatness is made. The dark. And she said it softly, so it wouldn’t bother the souls of those around her. She could feel them at times, the ones she never said good-bye to. They were called Regret, and they were one being separated into many entities. They flitted into her heart every so often, and she would beat the invisible spirits away with one hand, the other holding her dead daughter’s scarf.
Her daughter had died years ago. At birth, actually. The scarf was a light, faded yellow, and she could still remember buying it. Her bulging stomach, the anxious joy of the day. And then a month later, her daughter dead in her arms, covered in blood and sadness.
She said we can stop running now, that there’s no use. She said there was no chance of redemption. She said we would burn.
She said many things. When they found her alone in her house, starved to death, they never heard these things. No one knows what she said because she’s gone now. And when something is gone, it never comes back.
