An Echo Amongst Stars

An imaginative composed by Hailey (Year 12 Advanced)

Every summer evening; I watch the sun and the moon chase each other, as if they're in a race to reach something that is inevitably forbidden; separated by the expanses of space, and delicately hanging between the grasp of night and day. Unreachable to all but the imagination. Something that has evolved into a rare talent; pursued by many yet only obtained by a rare few. The whistle of soft grass flows through my ears effortlessly, as the waves fold into each other, creating a subtle heartbeat. A man staggers forward, bending his frail joints, coming to rest on a wooden bench placed upon the concrete with a view of the ocean and its people; the tides mirror his every breath. 

He begins to write; his silver hair elegantly drooped over the front of his rounded glasses, ever so slightly, and in his hands is a collection of sleepless nights and painful memories of things that have been lost and found again. The fragile parchment submissed to the inks touch as the man's rough hand paints delicate words onto the final few pages. His collection of poetry. A delicate art that has been lost; and with each season, becomes eternally forgotten by another.

The man, however, appears to be lost within the depth of his own mind. His eyes move away from the precious pages secured by his soft grasp and drift up to the young children and their parents excitedly making their way down to the sand and the place where the forbidden lies. Where the sun and moon cannot reach and nor can he, not yet.

Nostalgia reminds me of a time when my grandfather was not constrained by the limits of his ageing mind, and he was free to roam the familiar with no arising doubts. A nuanced interplay of radiance and a quiet ache spreads across his face, his eyes return to the empty parchment, dragging themselves across the words on previous pages, as if they had been momentarily lost. Seagulls fly overhead and take away his attention once more. He seems to be fascinated by the mechanisms of each individual passing by, as if each has something new to offer. I see memories play through his mind, arranged in constellations, each with its own unique group of stars shining. 

He places the delicate anthology of stories onto the splintered wood beside him and rises, picking the book up again and holding it dearly to his chest; the dreamer sets on his journey home. It is a sign for me to follow, like every other Sunday afternoon just before dusk. With each footstep he takes, a star is left behind and his dwindling collection of constellations abandons him once more.

The leaves have been reduced to shades of brown and red; and I waltz with the dreamer back to the ocean once more, where he sits on his wooden companion across from where I conceal myself and begins to write on the final page of his veiled collection of memories. He is but an echo of himself now and his eyes grow increasingly absent day by day. With every word on the page, another sparkle falls from the sky and his mind, only fortunately these sparkles have been transcribed into hidden whispers and forever kept within a leather cover. Eternally.

I look up and my eyes are met by green saucers staring from opposite me with a deep sadness protruding from them. The edges of his lips are drawn upward into what used to be a smile, though now has become a reflex, and I return the favour, hoping for just a flicker of the broken star with our young smiles stained on its surface.

Though his face loses its radiance a moment later and confusion takes it place, offering no sympathy.

His eyes are fixated on the cherished item he so gently holds, and as he closes the cover and places it upon the bench, shuffling forward and rising as tall as his frail body allows, he starts to move away. Only this time, as he rises from his place of solace, he does not reach back for his cherished pages, and instead they are abandoned. He allows me one final glance into the two pools of stars staring back into mine, before leaving me and his dear memories behind. The dreamer moves away and towards the sand; where the forbidden lies, waiting.

Today, he watched the sun set below the horizon and the moon kiss the day goodnight. It was there that the stars were reflected by the ones shining through his eyes, reunited, as he vanished.

Winter has taken the place of its fellow and the cold sets in as I sit down with my grandfather's secrets. The words of the past, now passed on to create their own stars and faint glimmers; for another. The pages lay bare before my eyes. It is proof that in the moment when our eyes met for a final glimpse, he remembered;

It was the hour, 

In which the present shifted 

into the past 

And our smiles, in that moment 

Had faded;

ephemerally

Falling from the day 

And into the night sky

With the rest of my stars.

  Waiting;

For me to reach them 

One day.