“Twilight fell: The sky turned to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars.”
J.K. Rowling


Letters and lines, they intertwine. They come to you as symbols and signs. But do you recognize the handwriting? Do you recognize the road? Don't look away. It's okay if you do. It's okay if you weren't listening. It's okay because the bright lights in their eyes have already stitched their glow atop your heart.

I wish I had words for fading memories, for lost friendships and forgotten songs. I wish I still had those eyes that could take me to the sleepless cemetery of stars. I wish I could take you with me, my beautiful cold, my beautiful dark, my beautiful corner; my ever-faithful void. For so long, I secretly thought that you had etched your pain upon every piece of me, that all the warmth I will ever encounter would eventually shiver at the sight of your gaze.

But now I ask myself and you,

Have you forgotten me?

I'm that child who saw the stars behind the rain. I am the enigma of self-inflicted affliction. I'm the boy who dug for the truth beneath the shadow. I am that seeker who fell in love with the horizon. I am the game, the game lonely children play to pretend they're someone else. I am the past, present and future interlaced in one broken moment. I am you, dearest void, as I have always been. So why are you not answering? And why is it colder than our usual cold?

I write to you today though I feel I should not. For I feel like an ancient recipe with expired secret ingredients unable to remember their distasteful failures. I cannot tell you what will become of us, or me because I don't know, because I can't feel anything beyond the pain of potentially losing you. I keep writing that word so that perhaps I'd feel it. And I know, deep down, that even if you decide to leave me to the road, I will keep you in my handwrit-

An echo interrupts the rain, blurs the shadows and their games. The void replies,

Heartbeats and souls, they interweave. They become you if you believe. Yet will you recognize the smell? Will you recognize the warmth?

You will never walk alone – unless you change the story.

I don't think you can.

“There's always a story. It's all stories, really. The sun coming up every day is a story. Everything's got a story in it. Change the story, change the world.”
Terry Pratchett