Grandiose hues of yellow are reflected back onto the translucent waters. A swirl of blood reds and sunset oranges dance before my eyes; further down the shore, the rainbow of colours expand ultraviolet and infrared. They sing songs of beautiful melodies, of memories lived in lives before. I sigh. While the joy floating around me is contagious, I seem to be immune. Immune to the allure of the crystal seas; no, instead my attraction falls to the golden sand from which I am banned.

“Look at the stars.”

If I could fly, my fingers would graze the highest heaven, my palms would brush against the furthest star, my toes would scrape the lowest valley: and I would bring it all back to you, my supernova. If I could fly, I dream, I would get lost in the wings of a bird. If I could fly.

“We could be the stars.”

But for right now (and probably forever), I shall stand here, hoping, and await the day we can fly away together. For I cannot – no! I cannot – cut away your wings and tie your feet to my own. I cannot force you to wade in the waters when you dream to live on the sand.

Your wings are a beauty. Like the sun, they shimmer and shine with untold promises and upon getting too close you feel dizzyingly breathless. You, my angel, are like the sun; you are beautiful. Whereas I am living in your shadow, terrified of being burnt. In fact, you are better. You are indescribable. My words – no words – can truly capture your soul. And yet you are shunned, destined to walk along the coast, praying that maybe one day you could run through the golden shards. Maybe one day…
Because you try so hard to be normal: to be the daughter your mother dreamed of, the wife your husband deserves. But, alas, you cannot live this fate as you prefer land to ocean.

You prefer pain to a lifetime of suffering.

You prefer…

No, you dream of leaving all together. You dream of walking away and letting everything else follow. You dream of following the wind, chasing it to the sun.

You dream of your galaxy. And she of her supernova.

Until then, however, you fly to the moon and never to the sun!
And I wait, here, on this stunning coast, framed by the blood reds and sunset oranges: looking out to the ultraviolet and infrared.

“She said we could be the stars.”

And I wait.