I wish that the world would come to life. Tendrils of lavender vines weeping ivory roses would burst from the very earth, embracing as each tremulous tress grew larger, until they resembled blades of grass, and I was nothing but an ant against their soaring expanses.
I wish that all four of the skies were visible at one point in time. That they would meet in a dazzling bloom, that I could be held there forever.
In the north would live the fair dawn. The dew would shimmer, the size of a fist, melting away with the coming day. A most fragile light would begin to sputter upon the corners of the great orb, obscuring the stars. And then the colors of morn would belch forth, unrestrained, and terribly gentle, the slightest blue, sea foam green, a blushing rose. And the wide, deep eyes of the doe would linger on the scene, the birds would coo in adoration, the grass would strain forward. Faint wind would bring the smell of silence, of the delicate hope that another morning brings.
In the east the sun would become slick, an exquisite amber, it’s beams oiling my skin, catching the wide planes of my face until I am nothing but the light itself. There would be flowers of every hue there. It would be a brazen world, fearless and extraordinary, color splashing through each tender leaf, almost painful in it’s radiance.
In the south the hushed twilight would be settled. The time between times. The time for dreamers, and dreams themselves. Sapphire would shudder and skim each surface, whittling every being of the night to it’s very essence, the silhouette of their soul boldly revealed to the vulnerable hour. Crushed pines would linger on the air. Dark flowers would bloom at the base of each spindling tree, black and deep blue. The lightning bugs would come to play, their winking yellow lights extending for miles, endless bursts of magic. The deer would sleep then, their paws bent safely against their hides, sinuous lengths of warm brown.
And to the west darkness would prosper. The moon would ripen, until it occupied the length of the sky. The velvet cloak would become impossibly black, raven, starbursts of white light exploding overhead, their cackles heard from afar. The lake would lay, absolutely still, reflecting the moonlight until it hardened, a milky pearl against the striking landscape.
And I would watch each place with equal fondness, cradling the vision of the waning stages. From each direction the wind would find a piece of me, threatening to tear me to willing ribbons, rendering me apart of the ethereal world. Honeysuckle would glide toward me, reminders of happier summers in faraway places. The cradle of a cheek, a gentle kiss, things that I can recall as joyous. Dawns thin, fine breeze would slice at my cheeks, brisk and welcome, determination in it’s purest form. Lengths of cruel, deep thread would burrow through the flesh, darkening, hurting. And then, with a silent kiss, the twilight would leave me empty and yet more whole than I have been. Like Germany. Like love. Like promise.
And tears would roil down my cheeks, seizing each memory that defines me. Color, shape, sound. A fractured scream, the heavy weight of disapproval, dancing in the blistering rain, my head thrown back, a smile born upon my lips, looking out over soaring plains, a quiet, dry corner, a welcome hug, the crash of joy in a human’s face, lighting it.
I would weep until I could weep no more, and each memory had left me, and I would be borne anew.
A river would prance merrily below, willows would play, ivory benches would wait expectantly, steeds would snort and whinny. And those I love would be there, waiting, arm open. And I would laugh, and shake my head sweetly, and wave, and allow the world to take me. My eyes would become stars, my lips the silken petals of a cherry tree, my arms the beams of the sun, my voice the coo of the wind, my dance the pirouette of the rain, my cheeks the face of the moon.
And they would not mourn. They would smile. And dance in my rain, and place my lips behind their ears, tucked beneath curled locks. They would wish upon my eyes, and embrace the warmth of my fingertips. They would idolize the milk of my cheeks, and they would breath me in every moment. In the winter and summer, spring and autumn. I would whistle across the feeble land in the cold, flutter expectant lashes in the heat, kiss flowers in the spring, kick up leaves playfully in the fall, just to hear their dry cracks.
They would live. And I would watch it all.
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