Echoes

This is basically just this real quick, vivid image I had in my mind when I was walking back to my dorm after an all nighter at the library.

Sometimes

When it’s dark and cold out

And I’m walking quickly.

When I feel very alone and small

And warm and vulnerable.

Sometimes, when my mind is mechanically spinning

From one nonthought to the next

I hear

A flute.

A song.

Something fleeting and

Wild.

Beautiful

Inexplicable.

I hear this song so clearly that

My head turns to one direction

As though I could follow it.

As though I could find it.

 

Most of the time,

I imagine a student, like me,

On the other side of the building I’m

Walking next to

With a small pan flute.

I might be comforted

To imagine him there.

 

But sometimes,

I deny that and let myself

Believe that it’s a Calling.

It’s the Voice of something Great.

It’s the song that my heart crafted

Out of the voices of the former me’s.

The voices of the adventurers I was

Before I was in this body.

Sometimes, it’s a message to myself.

“Burst free.”

“What are you doing?”

“Where are you going?”

 

I see a fire.

Large and bright and joyful and warm.

It’s orange and black and it makes me think of

Halloween.

Samhain.

Death and celebration all wrapped into one.

It makes me think of mischief and

Not apologizing.

And suddenly I’m dancing.

I’m wild and joyful.

There are brass circles around my

Ankles and arms.

And all my limbs are moving at once

Jerky. Beautiful. Wild. Not thinking.

Feeling.

My feet are stomping and there’s

Dirt between my toes and

I’m close to the Earth’s heartbeat.

My hair is dark brown and long

And unwashed and slapping shaking

Moving wildly.

Obscuring my face with

Dark eyes

And open

Panting

Mouth.

 

The sky is so dark and

The stars are so bright

And I offer everything to that sky.

To the moon watching with

An indulgent face.

 

And that flute it still playing.

The song is full of joy and life and

I’m in the song. I’m writing the song.

I’m the flute.

I’m the sound.

I’m the dancer.

I’m the dirt.

I’m the fire.

I’m everything.

 

Freedom!

Freedom!

Freedom!

 

And then a passing car honks a horn.

And I’m just me.

A student.

Walking quickly in a cold night.

Author's Note

please be as honest as possible.