Dazzled by the pieces of my life that burst like bubbles before my eyes, Meeko continues to flap her arms. They’re not yet wings—won’t be for several years—yet it’s easy to see just by looking at her that she’ll fly so high once those feathers of hers see the light of day. Tilting my head to one side, I catch sight of a moth passing between myself and the tree. Landing upon her hand as she reaches out to tug my shirt, I smile while slipping between the cracks as the two of them speak without making a sound.
“Fly fly fly, dear Meeko,” I whisper.
“Fly fly fly, until you reach the place you seek above all else.”
Crying as she blows kisses to the man in the moon whose fingers play with the curls of her hair like a cat pawing a length of string, I get the feeling that I won’t always be by her side, nor will I know where she’ll be spending the majority of her nights. It’s a curious thing—a most unpleasant thing—and yet a divided future is by no means a failure, for if an absence of love were to come between us, I know it wouldn’t be the end. The ties that bind us are even more of a mystery than the strange delights that currently occupy our eyes and minds. They reek of permanence—of a natural way of being—and even if we were to one day falter and our path through life were to branch in different directions, a thousand lifetimes could pass, and I would never call her arms anything other than home. Gripped by the strangest sense of déjà vu, I watch her with awe as she giggles like a kid. Sticking out her tongue at me as the moth dances on the tip of her nose, she breaks into a sneezing fit sending the last remaining stars into the deepest pockets of outer space.