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If Only
Current mood: artistic
Category: Writing and Poetry


It was her favorite place to go, to remember. It was the only place she could be alone and at peace with herself. It was only a meadow, but to her it was a haven. A place where the shadows of spirits wandered, their ethereal voices whipping through the trees like a calming wind. A place where birdsong suggested something she must have forgotten, and should remember. When she was here, a terrible longing filled her being so deeply that nothing else seemed real. It was an inexplicable feeling. The longing was terrible, but it was the only feeling that seemed to complete her. Somehow when the longing was on her she knew she was at peace, and she could explore herself in a way impossible otherwise. She sat hugging her knees, staring up at the vibrant blue of the sky, and she wondered at the warmth of the world around her; the soft kiss of the sun. And she remembered. She remembered a song she heard when she was about five or six, a song about going home, about dreams. She remembered the seeds of a dandelion floating lazily away, and the thrill of her only wish coming true. She remembered running through the fresh mud barefoot, squealing all the way.

And she remembered something else.

It was something she didn't understand. It was like a voice calling her name from someplace far away. She only remembered it here, and every time she heard it, her heart leapt into her throat and she felt somethning else entirely. She wanted to know who or what she was recalling, but it was so fuzzy it could have been a vague dream she had at some point. But somehow she knew it was no dream. If only she could reach inside herself and find whatever it was she was missing. If only she knew what caused her to ache so blissfully. If only.