I walk in the dusty and dirty halls of our old school. Even through tainted windows the bright spring sun shines bright in the empty classrooms and halls. The happy children painted on tapioca yellow walls seem as joyous as they did when we were young.
It’s warm, spring truly here, and I remember me and her, young children full of curiosity and energy, learning about the sun and the stars, and what made the grass grow and the world spin and the seasons come and go.
When you are a child, you can believe and light and the sun and the goodness of the great big world, even as you feel terror in the darkness and the things you cannot name and how they spin through the stars.
I walk outside to the rusted and broken playground equipment, the broken and cracked asphalt of the little basketball court, the basket with it’s shredded net. The swings up against the chain link fence, where the childhood jungle of the forests meets us.
We looked deep into those forests one day, as spring had come and all was green and bright, and you saw a white unicorn. I saw her too. We were blessed for a time then, chosen and allowed to enter between the cracks.
We made kingdoms, just us, not even regents or royalty, just Adam and Eve before the truth came, among miracles and wonders and a dream of neither death or it’s beginnings.
I sit now, in the dry and yellow grass, by that same forest that is named shamed and lost. So long since the rains came. You’re not here anymore either, and the wound is raw and not even scabbed. Human wickedness took everything. The war took everything.
Even as we were children the hooks of the parasitic worms of corruption dug into our flesh, into our souls, drug us into the dirt. You cannot be in the world and not of it. Things changed. We became too much like them.
The sun is bright and the day is warm, but spring and its hope and promise are past now. This place still echoes with love and dreams, our the memories of you. As I look into a ruined forest, I saw a famished and sickly unicorn looking back at me.