Milady of Oz

From her presence and her manners she was a queen, from what you could see in her eyes she was a star. I don't mean this in the vulgar sense of the word used to described people who have achieved certain notoriety, I mean it in the most literal possible way. At risk of sounding dull and sentimental, I dare say she definitely shone in an unexpected and mesmerizing way. Nevertheless, she was sweet and kind and if she was aware of her astral quality she was ever so subtle in demonstrating it.

I was one of the lucky ones, the ones that got to know her well I even was let in into the intricacies of the not so bright sides of her character. What she became later nobody could have anticipated, but I always had the sense that it was coming. Greatness is in everything she does, except in those moments when she decides not to act on it. Whether as a conscious decision or because of something she cannot help, those are the tinny little spots that remind us (and perhaps remind her as well) that she is in fact one of us and in my case in particular one of my own.

These are only words

I have pictured it many times in my mind, how it would be like when I finally awake. It will be cold at first, possibly disorientating, definitelly frightening. I imagine I will call out a name, any name, but you will know I'm calling you. You might turn slightly towards me only driven by the faint shadow of the hope that accompanied you all this time (All this time!), a mere reflex by now. In the end you will walk away, with your peculiar gait and perhaps with a soft smile on your face, with your hands tucked into the pockets of the black coat and the collar up, triumphant.

My voice will start becoming stronger, my lungs will start filling with air and my whispers will become screams. But it makes no difference, you will be long gone before I can manage to get on my feet, before I can start giving the first few steps down the hill. I will mutter something, probably trying to remember some words and trying to figure out their meaning. I will make a few attempts at this before deciding that it is not worth the effort, there is no more need for words, there will never be any need for words.

So when I am able to, I will start walking towards the voices and the noise and when I finally get there I will find all sorts of things. There will be praise and love. There will be disappointment and sorrow. I might be able to stay there for a long time. If I'm lucky enough I might be able to stay there for as long a time as I was away. And I will know I'm here now, finally here now! But amongst all those voices yours will be missing and I will know, as certain as the morning, that to me it is lost forever. And as the tick of a clock I will constantly hear it: That moment, the blink, that heartbeat that my heart might have skipped and then the click, the light, your silhouette growing smaller, engraved in the inside of my eyes so I will never dare to fall asleep again.