aosid's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - Alphonse has seen everything. He arrived unannounced one Christmas years ago, and I still wonder how he has survived my company this long. He was conjured in a whisper, back when I was tall and strong and you could climb me like a tree. It took me some time to grow accustomed to his company; I neglected to bring him back from the warmth that January. When he grew impatient and came to find me, I carried him all through the plaza on my shoulders in penance. And once he accepted my apology, he brought the warmth with him and kept it for me until the alleys buckled and admitted new leaves. Then I left him for the second time Alphonse, did you see my face when the betrayal touched you? Your mother asked after you, but she knew that I wouldn't turn away from you again. Your Indian summer was perfect and honest and sad, a rose with one petal beginning to wilt. You and I, we slept in each others' arms through the true autumn until Orion called me to my winter's duty. I thought to bring you along a few times, but it was clear that you knew better, just like all the others. So I left Alphonse for the third time I avoided his eyes and his arms for almost a year. He knew better, and somewhere I did too, but the shame was solstice-sun blinding. God, I wish I could hear the wisdom in his silence, but his words take seasons to decipher. I kept him always near me after the second one, in the hopes that I would learn. And I learned, and I learned, and Orion was pleased. But when the leaves came again, I dared to leave Alphonse for the fourth time Once, as the light grew short, his solemn syllables finally arranged themselves in my ears, and I learned once more. I saw a glow to the east and to the west, and I saw that it had been there for years. It had been there even before Alphonse came to me in whispers of eucalyptus. And before the echoes died, I ran with gold and wind in my veins. I ran to every point of the compass, and when they were exhausted, I found Alphonse and showed him with a hug and a fool's grin that I had learned. Alphonse, though my boughs were long fallen and my bark in ribbons, I learned. And the east-west glow burst over May's horizon, under the Bull. You were there that night, there with the whispers and the ringing and the white glint of my elusive happiness. You told me why the sky shone on every edge; you told me to number the stars. But I had learned too much too quickly, that and nothing. So I ran again. Fifth and fourth. I didn't mean to leave you, but I thought I had finished the count. The dancing sky and the frozen grass and a little will-o'-the-wisp conspired to enchant me. I didn't fight, and that proved to be the fourth mistake. Now I fear that the once-and-future promise, the one of green eyes and anchors, is as delicate as it is vast. Alphonse, I dread leaving you for these five hours far more than I ever worried to leave you for years. Because for five hours, your silence will not becalm my thoughts, and these fears are vicious things to hold. Alphonse, 2:15 a.m. - 2013-03-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||