How, with all the blanks filled in, can I still not manage the colour of the sky? It’s too vast, I tell myself. Cloudless, it’s too pure. When I see those fluffy white beasts, I say, get away, you’re blocking my view.
Why is the sky so hard to draw?
I think it may be that I want not to float out of my body and high up there, when I die.
Should I mar the purity, of the sky.
My mind is haunted with thoughts of you. If only you could see or hear me. If you could just speak…what would you tell me? What would you want to know of me? Would you be happy that I live…here? Would you want to spend time with me, if you knew me?
You’ve seen me in the crowd. I know you have. You waved, once, from afar. But you wouldn’t know me to see me now. I’ve changed a little. I’ve become… I’ve become more calm. Less likely to rip up my life and chase a dream.
Just a dream, some might say. To know you would be like remembering a long, distant past full of promises that turned to dust and ashes.
So I’ll ask you, just this once. Do you wish to see me? Please answer yes or no in the little square inside the box on the page marked ‘My Apparition’.
Linda G. Hill 