Say something, I’m giving up on you

It’s been a long year. Cold in parts, freezing at moments, unbearable heat in waves, your voice flickering, your words swallowed whole by the echo that’s wedged between us. By the edge of the cliff I wait. A roaring thunder and you vanished, I could no longer see. It’s nearly been a year, now I wish I had the power to live somewhere else. On top of this lovely cliff is where I made my home, somehow close to you, but void of your love that once glowed. Slowly I learn what the birds tell me, but I’m waiting for you to say something. I wait just a little longer. Maybe one more day, maybe tomorrow I’ll hear that voice.

The soil is cooling down, nights bring a faint arctic breeze that will only strengthen in the days and months to come. I am prepared. I am well armed against the cold, the bitter power ending all glimpse of beautiful, coloured life. On the coattails of the northern stream I wish to whisk my armoured heart away. Close to nothing else but you. If I set off, I may freeze. If in deep slumber I am taken far from all that I know, I may imagine a world of glittering sunshine. Without a guide in that world of warmth, I may burn.

The curious passer-by offers a helping hand. I know it seems like a hopeless case – I kindly say, but trust the heart, I know I only have to wait another day. If I give up, who else will ever have the patience? The beasts of the wild would think me weak and overtake my spot in a second if I left to graze my lonely heart on a field further ahead. I’m not afraid. Come night, come rain, come cold, come any lurking carnivore: I stay, in earnest and hope: I stay, and imagine that I will hear the voice I long to hear.

I notice that the angels who stumble upon this cliff are fallen and broken. Ferocious in their intent to heal, but incomplete. With time the eyes learn to see the invisible. In my silence they sense my presence. I hear their whimpers; they bring their brokenness near, almost near enough to touch. En route to salvage the souls they have the power to still save, I expect them not to heed to my unfortunate heart’s ailment. But then I get a promise of a return, a promise I almost allow myself to believe. If only they were not fallen. If only these angels were not broken so.

A fire’s burning for now, it’s keeping me warm, it’s keeping me light. Like clockwork I hum our melody in the hope that you will this evening, finally, say something.