Elly Grey

"What are you looking at, Daddy?" ​" Karachi ." ​I searched my father’s face to see if he was joking, but before us lay only the vast, unbroken Pacific. There was no land in sight. ​"Where?" I traced his gaze toward the horizon, trying to see through his eyes. ​"If you stare right where the sky meets the water, you’ll see it." ​I squinted, trying with all my might, but saw nothing except a line of blue and empty air. ​It took decades for me to finally understand what he meant. He was homesick, worlds away, anchored only by the sky and the ocean, stretching out endlessly, connected to the Arabian Sea that lapped against the shores he had left behind. The water was his bridge home . ​Now, whenever I look out across the horizon, I feel the weight of his words. I squint into the distance, and I swear—I can see Karachi , too.

  I loved you and that feeling will never die. One day when I'm alone on an empty train you'll cross my mind and I'll think of us and how we were. Does love die? No. But the pain of loss, we hide. We bury it, deep within, to forget how beautiful vulnerability for a moment was.  

These words go nowhere. There is no name on the envelope, no address, just thoughts bouncing around in my mind, occasionally spilling onto paper. My fingers tremble in silence, as if asking me: What is the point? ​I do not know. ​I tell myself that if I write to you, these thoughts will reach you somehow. Why do I bother? Perhaps I still believe I can undo what happened, bring you back into your home, back into my life. ​You would open your mailbox and find my letter. You would smile, tear open the envelope, inhale the faint scent of the stationery, and begin reading: ​ My Darling, How I have missed you… ​Yet years have passed. Your house sits empty, the rosebushes overgrown. The curtains are drawn; even the street has fallen eerily quiet. The postman will never carry these pages, these blank letters to the lost. 

Coming into her own after the destruction you left her in. She's not looking back this time, no matter how you sweet talk her. This is her rebirth. Her newness. Her Phoenix reborn. From broken bricks she's rebuilt her castle. From scraps, she's pieced together her world. She wipes the grit from a split lip, spits the red into the dirt, and smiles:  You will not ruin me again.

  ' Grace, beauty and delicate nature. A wild rose'. That's what your name means. I wonder if you knew?  You tended to your garden so lovingly. Everything you touched bloomed.  Did you realise that your name was the embodiment of your nature?  And now you've gone into the most fragrant Garden. The one that is forever in bloom. 

  Like colourful shards of stained glass pieced together to tell a story. Like a bush of lavender in October, heavy with fresh blooms. My life is a mosaic of everyone I’ve ever loved. They may never have known one another, but what counts is that they touched me  and quietly altered the course of who I became. Like a jar of assorted sweets, where every favourite holds a memory. Like the quiet rhythm of the seasons, each bringing its own kind of grace. My life is a mosaic of everyone I've loved.

  There's a spell I'm going to teach you, using an open window: So go ahead, open a window. Look out in hope. Now think of three positive things in your life. Say them to the sky. Now say what you wish to claim. Now say your sweetheart's name. And now look in hope, out of the open window.  Smell the air, hear the rustle of leaves and feel the temperature change around you. Refuse to stay stagnant in your head. Your open window is telling you, it's all yours. 

Hollow verses. Empty vessels. Echoes that got lost in the wind. Gentle, sweet nothings,  tangled in my curls. Words not written or recorded. Your word now against mine.  Did you say them to me? Yes you did. Look at me, into my eyes. You did. You did.  But they were just that. Meaningless words, with no substance. Hollow verses that you once said to me. 

Your heart.  All mine.  (I'm selfish like that).

I will not carry your demons for you. No. I'm not that nice.  You've got to grow up and face those bastards now on your own.  They are your demons. Not anybody else's.  Drown those suckers so you can finally take a breath. Kill them, so you can live.  So do you see why I can't carry that burden for you? Because they are your demons. Not mine.  Come to me when you're healed. Then we'll have fun. 

He didn't say much when it ended. He sort of just left, leaving things undone and unsaid.  I didn't understand it at the time. I made noise. I chased. I pestered him for more. But there was nothing. There was no more.  For a long time, I thought it was me and that I was flawed. It took me time to realise that he and I were not meant to be. And when it's not meant to be, whatever that bond was, it will break. Leaving things undone, unsaid with no more.  We were two hearts beating separately. We were. But the bond between us had one heart and on a particular day, that heartbeat stopped. Leaving things undone, unsaid with no more.  And it'll be on the most plainest, quiet day, I'll hear a thud, a gentle heartbeat. Like an echo or a phantom sound. Whispers of the wind, words that were unsaid, left undone. No more...making a sound. 

Mirror, Mirror  Do you recognise me?  I'm the girl who would look into thee.  But now I've changed. Those insecurities have gone.  Mirror, Mirror, look at who I have become.   No longer am I standing in front of you, questioning my being. No longer am I nitpicking the beauty you're seeing. No longer will I talk down to myself. No longer will I think to be someone else.   I know who I am and what I stand for. Mirror, Mirror, I don't need you anymore.

We have unfinished business, Me and you. Heaven can wait because  I'm yet to show you heaven here.  So close your eyes. Take my hand. I'm about to take you on a trip that will blow your mind.

 I wonder where old messages are kept? Are they in our minds or hearts?  What ink are they written with? Black, permanent? Or are they stamped? Imprinted forever.  Whatever the case, they remain. Each word, still with hope and love, like they were uttered only yesterday.  Old messages, that cannot be deleted.  And thank goodness for that. 

Until we meet again, I want you to keep this photograph of me close. I want you to look at it on the days you miss me.  Until we meet again, I want you to re-read our messages. Read between the lines, for you'll find the essence of us.  Until we meet again, I want you to call me when you feel alone. I'll always pick up. I'll always be there for you.  Until we meet again, I want you to plan for our next time together. I want you to surprise me, almost spoil me.  Until we meet again, I want you to hold onto hope that a day will come where this distance will be no more. 

Some nights I stand at the edge of a cliff, the urge to fly off the edge so strong. ​Some nights I stare at the ocean, the urge to tease it's depths too much. ​And then there are nights where I look at the Moon— ice cold and dark, just like me. The urge to hold it in my hand is mesmerising; it's magnetic pull entrancing me. 

" But how did you know?" "Intuition I guess..." "Wow... I wish my gut feelings were like that" "It's a curse. A feeling you don't want, because it will eventuate for something to be true. And then you're just waiting for the confirmation" "And so again, this time?" "Yes. It's like I'm gone before the 'reveal'. Blue curtains drop. Fade to black. THE END".

It's strange how the universe works. One day something feels perfect and in another moment it's been removed from you. Sometimes a jolt is felt, so hard, it startles your mind. It's the universe showing you...beware, Stop sign.