"When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead
When the cloud is scattered
The rainbow's glory is shed.
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not.
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot."
~Percy Bysshe S...
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To the one from the star,
I don't remember falling asleep that night. But I also, and most definitely don't remember walking all the way down to my room and climb up on my bed either.
Did you actually carry me down?
Entangled in a mess of awkwardly arranged bed sheets and quilt, I'd found myself rising not to the chirrup of birds but to the loud honk of my dad's truck leaving the driveway. Mom probably wasn't home yet, and dad didn't bother to stay back and demand a legitimate reason for mum's absence when she returned.
That was how things were these days: Mom and dad arguing over nothing; mom being absent from home longer than what was normal; dad always being drunk; and myself being found on the receiving end of dad's abuse.
In other words, our home was falling apart. And I had nothing to do about it.
"You're awake?"
I hadn't noticed you until then. And I could swear you weren't perched on my window sill a moment ago.
You know you still need to work on this whole sneaking-up-on-people-while-they- aren't-aware habit. It's rather creepy if you think about it. You're a star after all.
"Yeah just woke up."
"Your dad left. Where's your mom?"
I'd dropped my head, as if I were to be blamed; as if I should be the one ashamed. "Out..."
Your eyebrows had creased and I could almost see the cogs turning in your head. For some reason I didn't want you to connect the dots...but at the same time, wanted you to see through me? Wanted you to see through the haze and peek into my soul that was crumbling into piles of ashes everyday.
"Breakfast?"
"What?"
"Do you want breakfast?"
"Umm..." I remember hesitating because I honestly didn't know how to respond. Never once did anyone interest themselves with my well being. So interacting with someone on this level -- not to mention a star -- was entirely new to me. "Sure, I'll cook myself something, I guess? Let me just --"
"Don't worry about it. I made pancakes!" You exclaimed happily, and swaggered out of the room with a smile so bright as if you'd just received an Oscar.
Even today, I wonder how a star could crack dad jokes and make pancakes.
Were you for real? Or a figment of my hyperactive imagination?
•°•°•°•°•
A/N
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