i. gold ink for the moments that hover, humming with harmonic tones overhead like the clouds conversations - you’d be lucky to overhear one in the years. gold to sink into the earth’s bones and lie quietly. thin script in old, thick, pages; the color of sun to divulge the secrets of god’s breath. reverent and hushed are the small mysteries that I keep chronicled in the stars and saturn’s rings.


ii. the green, the beautiful, the lovely. I lie back and stare up at the sky. my eyes close, and I find that I am at peace. when they open, the conversation I dreamt of with old friends in the constellations fades - but they have never left me. in tightly closed fists I keep my treasures safe. my nails dig deep into my palms, but I feel no pain. my blood shines green, and the door to my home opens softly.


iii. I must go forwards unafraid. I must do my best for the people who believe in me. for the sake of the wishes I have made on every eyelash and 11:11 I must face forwards; move forever onwards. I am all that holds me back and though I know it I cannot bear to pull tighter at the chains anchored deep in my bones. shackles chafe against skin and I am not yet made of stronger things. one day. one day.


iv. there is a garden in full bloom, surrounded by ankle height wooden fence that I stepped over carefully as a small child (though they need no protection but intertwined leaves). the sun sings, and water flows - a heartbeat. the flowers touch leaves and whisper to each other their admirations. clouds smile downwards when they pass. don’t leave, don’t deceive. we flourish. there is a low hum of joy, so pure, that ebbs with the stream, and to run your fingers through it is to brush against butterfly wings.


v. the halls are empty. there is something I want to ask, a story I want to share and laugh about, a story more poignant, a small despair - but there is no one home. my fingers feel cold, and I press them to my eyes and hair because it is not so, I am warm, I picture the embers smoldering endlessly and they dim - but I look through the windows, far away, and the frost tells me to have patience with winter.