Only For A Day

It flies over several horizons, sometimes chasing the sun, sometimes the moon, sometimes a constellation, in circles, in straight cut lines. But fly it does, across time and distance, over forests that have frozen over time into canyons and steep cliffs, over rivers that have turned to glacial masses, over seas that have crusted over and turned into saline lands, over fiery volcanoes that have turned to islands.

Fly it does, over the wilderness, where beasts know nature and stand in silent worship, over generations that see drops of water frozen into glistening flint. Fly it does, on a wing, fighting snow storms, fighting blizzards, sandstorms and gales. Fly it does, for a minute in your embrace. For a single glimpse of you, who mirrors its own, for one look of recognition when you look into those eyes and see yourself looking back at you.

Fly it does, for its love is selfish and it comes just to know that such love exists for it, beyond lifetimes and learnings. Fly it does, for its love is selfless, who else should undertake a journey so impossible for a singular glimpse of this love?

You call it a soul mate, a lover, a spouse, a parent, a friend...it is neither of those names and still all those names, but how will you trap that which has no bounds into words? For fly it will, tomorrow, when you awaken, it will be gone, it will leave no trace. It was here, but only for a day.

For selfish it is, it came for a glimpse of that love that it knew waited endlessly for it, across trees blackened with age, across caves clogged with ice. For fly it must, selfless that it is, lest you trap it and yourself into the illusion that there is 'two'.

Two is too painful for one to exist. And so, fly it must. And fly it will.

The Choice

He had little fingers. Small, pink and they curled around her index finger, making her realize how big her hands were compared to his tiny ones. His eyes were sealed shut and his pink eyelids were almost translucent, under which swam dreams, colors and angels, while he readied to see sights that were only sounds and feeling for nine long months.

All of a sudden, he heard her voice. The same voice that he would hear, words that made no sense, but filled him with an uncomfortable feeling nevertheless. He didn't like it and he cringed, his skin bristling even as it formed in her body.

She was leaving. She was not waiting for him to open his eyes and look at the body that fed his, the voice that spoke to him, the mouth that sometimes sang to him, sometimes yelled, sometimes wept.

He felt an urgent need to block all feeling out suddenly, to go back to where he came from, to stop breathing, it hurt so much anyway, his little lungs bursting with the effort. He did not want to open those eyelids that were pressed shut, and he did not want to lose sight of the angels that were preparing him for this new world - he beckoned to them and asked them to take him away, this was the world he did not want to see anymore, behold anymore.

The angels agreed.

His fingers went limp around her finger. She didn't want him. And he didn't want this world, without her. She was all he knew. He knew he was granted an exception before he left with the angels.

And that every child like him did not have that same choice.