by Noor Beliën
The sun rose higher in my memory. Its golden streaks of blinding light make it all a bit hazy now. It’s like a transitory veil, sewn with the threads of the naivety and foolish hopes of a vestige little girl, that covers my eyes. All I know is that peace was there, and the birds sang songs like that for a reason.
In my mind time is frozen and I am still chasing a summer from years ago, yet the months pass all the same. Now it is march again, and I am no longer a kid, but the pink blossoms of a cherry tree burn me in the grass where my feet once struck the earth nimbly, the place where a new religion was born.
They say that place is haunted now, but I know peace still hides there. So I look over my shoulder, but what I detect there is merely a silhouette of what once was such a clear image in my mind. Still I try to reach for it, but there is some invisible force that’s got hold of me, and it’s dragging me away. A sardonic voice tells me that the melody of the birds was only an echo, and even that echo is now breaking asunder. I live in an illusion.
Childhood is the alter I keep coming back to and to which I pray, begging it to have me, spare a place for me in the cup of its hands, but this is a worthless invocation, for I am nothing more than a tall child with a crooked spine, and this is not where I belong anymore.
Noor Beliën is an emerging writer living in Belgium. She is a seventeen year old high school student who spends most of her time reading and writing. After graduating high school, she aspires to study english literature at Ghent university. Aside from devouring books, she enjoys spending time in nature and baking. You can find her @writtenbynoorr on instagram.