Dear Saloni,
What do you think of the sky?
When I look to the sky I see heaven.
I do not see angels of white standing at pearly gates holding the book of Life.
I do not hear symphonies of choirs or trumpet music faintly playing the background.
What I do see, however, is a fragile crystalline canvas, constellations of memories floating throughout and faces of the loved and lost.
I see colour streaming in pantone shades of navy, streaking across the night sky, leaving only deviations of what our naked eyes can view.
I see hearts of the beloved, flying south in their flocks of families,
protecting one another from the wrath of Winter's own Ice Queen.
I see galaxies of sugar coated stars, white light of a burning love causing them to
glisten in our optics and caramel black holes resembling the Milky Way.
Optical illusions do indeed tickle my fancy.
When I lie in the cornfields, the
tall grass swaying beside me whispering lyrics of love and life, I stare at the sky,
telecommunicating with my friends from far away places, unknown and unsought to man,
I see her face. She is beaming, brighter than any of the burning balls, winking to me until they are extinguished and their lives complete.
She comforts me and I wake up to her presence, streaming in through my curtains and into my own eyes. She smiles.
Sometimes, I don't always see these things. Sometimes I just see a tired sky, restless and uneasy.
Doing it's routine job of not collapsing through gravity. Tinted with narcoleptic sighs, worn and petered-out,
stained by the heartless and littered with untruths about love and it's logic.
How I ache to see her face everyday...
Sincerely,
M.
Honorable mention
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