Meghan Lilly Wong

It's ethereal,
the way the sky paints itself.

Some days,
it is a crystal blue,
clear and serene,
As if spring had come and never left.

Some days,
it is a raging gold and orange,
fierce and brave,
as if passion itself was set ablaze.

And some days,
it is a mournful grey,
somber and morose,
as if weeping for the world it looks upon.

But I love those skies
that look like they're singing you a lullaby.

Those skies that glow with the spectrum
after troubled storms.
Those velvet skies
that are hued with shades that exist
outside our meager imagination.
Those ethereal skies
that make me think
of cherry blossoms and butterflies.

And when I stop for a moment
to look up at the heavens,
I am filled with wonder.
Because these skies,
they fill me with hope
and reignite those romanticized ideals
that have run aground
in the sands of tedium and monotony.

And I know that someday
when this world is gone and washed away,
these skies will still remain
with our wishes painted on.

Together we wrote our stories.
Together we sang our songs.
But now it's all gone.

Stashed away like photographs
inside my mind
in a place I have labeled "memories."
And sometimes,
when I flip through those pages,
thinking tenderly of the past,
remembering who we used to be-
sitting in class
having long conversations,
exchanging lyrics and words,
or just laughing 'til we couldn't breathe-
it fills me with a bitter-sweet ache,
and I just want to be little again.

Sometimes, random memories-
a reminiscent word said here,
a familiar melody heard there,
a burst of giggles and laughter-
catch me off-guard
and nostalgia floods my senses.

The desire to relive them,
to create once again
the everlasting from fleeting moments,
to feel the love that remains.
It grips me,
taking hold of my entire being.
My heart is throbbing again
with that sweet ache,
longing for what once was.
And that's when I realize,
it is but the wistful desire
of a child that never grew up
and learned just how to be.

So I had to settle for passing through the moments
like walking through doors,
only allowing my heart to flutter,
to flicker again with the bliss
I had once experienced.
It is a reminder
of a happiness I once owned,
of the love that remains,
of the things I no longer have...
and knowing that it will never come again
is what makes it so sweet.

A strange feeling fills my chest
as I leave this place.
As if I am not only going to miss
the people I love,
but also
the person I was at that time and place,
because I will never be that way again.
And I cling to it,
to that memory,
to that person I want to remain,
afraid to let it fade
to let it become a ghost,
a shadow.
Everything that I have loved
has become
everything I lost.

Wasn't it beautiful
when we believed in everything?