Will

Dear Will,

I know who you are. You may stand there looking calm and quiet, observant. Your hands may be warm and your eyes green as the breathing forest but, I know you deeper than that gentle surface. I feel your electricity in your nerves. I feel that awkward, rigid spine of yours, when you meet strangers and people you aren’t comfortable with. Those hands that you patiently keep hidden in your pockets, tremble slightly. Your heart beats so fast – as if it is trying to claw out of that web of anxiety in your chest. Your lungs are drums but all this weakness keep you strong, alert, you’re always alert. I know who you are – I have love for you – for the way you never show your restless fears. The way they never overwhelm your mind. 

Your mind always sees clearly. 

Soil warriors always work independently. They never cross paths. They never talk to one another. But Will and Aleena were different. They knew the forest better than anyone. They found themselves on a cross path. In the lost green lake they found each other – as their broken canoe sunk to the bottom, they clung onto the broken tree trunk, covered in moss, it jutted out from the middle of the lake. A baby, thin tree growing on the broken. They laughed like they had never laughed before. Wholeheartedly. Large sounds of joy and relief escaping their throats from their stomachs. They found home in each other’s eyes.

 

 

 

Ashen

Dear Ashen, 

Aleena will always be my solid ground and you will always be my earthquake.

Aleena remembered the time when she was little and she had watched Ashen mercilessly smash a rock over a snake’s head until it lay lifeless, then she had picked it up and tied it around her waist. The blood dripping from the crushed skull onto her bare feet. She looked up and noticed Aleena watching and she smiled sweetly.

“Do you like my belt?” She had asked.  That was when Aleena should have realised that Ashen would destroy anyone and anything in her way that would stop her from getting what she wanted.

Ashen was not made to look after things. Everywhere she went she broke things, not always on purpose but she was clumsy, she had tried looking after things… A kitten, a bird, a plant but nothing survived. Nothing thrived under her watchful gaze. At that time her heart was still big, open and warm so she mourned over everything she lost. When she broke something it cracked her heart too, until her heart was unable to hold grief for long. Until the day she flattened a moth on her wall. Then breaking things, killing things, became an obsession.