Cries of the Stars

a Tune of old Love

Dying, I wonder what dying feels like. In books they say that it doesn't feel like anything at all, how you just feel coldness spreading throughout your body, making it consume each living cell one by one until it reaches your heart.

I guess I'm not dying then. Although I wish I was, dead. Never before has that thought passed through my mind, never before have I actually considered taking my own life, just to end my suffering, just to end this waiting for the unknown. It's been three years since you left me, actually today is our three year break up anniversary. I'd be lying if I said that I'm over you because I'm not, and to be honest how could I be? You are, were, the love of my life and it shatters me to know that I'm no longer yours.

For the first few months I held onto the hope that you would come back to me, unconsciously I knew you were gone for good, I assume that the reason I kept looking for you was because I knew that actually losing you would kill me. In some ways I think it did, I barely leave my room, I just sit here, in the corner. I haven't touched the bed since you left, what's even the point? That bed was yours Noha. Everyone knows that a lumen never sleeps anyway. Besides there are too many memories tied with that bed, memories I'm afraid will vanish with my touch.

Time has become one with me in here, I know that every day at twelve a delivery truck drives past the house, every night there's a certain click from when the power turns on and off, it stays off for three and a half seconds each night. Patterns and logic has become one with my head as well, I focus on the walls in my room, see the texture of the wallpaper, the texture of the wall underneath the wallpaper. My fingers have gone used to the rugged and cold floor.

I only leave the room for training, I've even gotten a new mark, the mark of starlight, it settled between the marks of poison and bloodmoon on the right side of my chest. It's getting harder to hide them now, I can barely wear white shirts for they are somewhat transparent and leaves my marks fully exposed. I fear that with the summer approaching i won't be able to wear what I want, like sundresses, skirts, shorts, T-shirts, well basically every clothing item i own. Not that I'm going to show myself and leave my room but I want to have the possibility at least.

At times I visit the little house we found all those years ago, I remember how we'd gotten into trouble for trying to steal some apples from the market downtown. I remember how we both ran as if we couldn't feel tired, as if our legs had unlimited power, as if our lungs had doubled in size. We ran into the forest and over Klinta, we ran and we ran. I remember every step you took, every stone you jumped over, every low-hanging branch you dodged.

The house was old, probably a couple of centuries, given all the old books in there. I remember reading every single book to you that summer, I even had to improvise at times when pages were missing or the language switched from the common one to long forgotten ones. I remember that your favourite of them all was a book called "the neverending story", which was one of the very oldest there was, whole chapters missing.

In the house we also found an old piano, truly magnificent, we spent weeks trying to make it sound right, and when we did we also found old notebooks in the chair. Neither of us understood a thing, but we tried really hard and managed to play one line from the book. I still remember the notes. C C D E G G E G E A G E E G A B E G A.

I can't even bare myself to replay that tune anymore.

I still don't understand why you left, if I did I might've been able to move on with my life, now my life keeps moving but I'm standing completely still, in my little dark corner, in my little dark room, in my little dark world, and not even the stars can shine upon me now.