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ECHOES OF MINE

I remember when a candle shop burned down. Everyone stood around singing ‘Happy Birthday.’ Well, birthdays are merely symbolic of how another year has gone by and how old I have grown. No matter how desperate I am that someday a better self will emerge, with each flicker of the candles on the cake (if ever), I know it's not to be, that for the rest of this (sad, pathetic maybe) life, this is who I am to the bitter end. Inevitably, irrevocably, Happy birthday? No such thing.
I might just be my mother's child, but in all reality, I'm everybody's child or no one even. Nobody raised me; I was raised in this society.
It’s late. I’m looking for my other home, and I take a path I do not know: A small path along the factories and the city, cutting through the forest. I am just beginning to see a glimpse of nature, when suddenly, night falls. I am immersed in a world of silence, yet I am not afraid. I fall asleep for a few minutes, at most, and when I wake, sun is there, and the forest shines of a bright light. I recognize that forest. This is not an ordinary forest, it is a forest of memories. My memories. This white and sonorous river and sound, my adolescence. These large trees, the women and people I loved. These birds flying in the distance, my missing father. My memories are no longer memories. They are here, living, near me, they dance and embrace me, sing and smile at me. I look at my hands. I caress my face, and I’m older. And I love as I have never loved.
I know I’m nothing and my moment is almost gone. I could still save the world and have people look forward to my presence.
Melody Chuks
OTHER POST:
A REAL WINNER
CASTLES IN THE SAND
PROMISE ACCOMPLISHED
A CH'AN MASTER'S TEARS
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