Pocket Watch

The sand in the hourglass trickles away, sliding down... down... down... vanishing. Come back, I whisper. Come back.

I've stolen the White Rabbit's Pocket Watch. It's ticking, ticking... each second fairy dust slips through my fingers. I hide it in a jar and lock it away, where the Ticking Crocodile won't find it.

I still remember how to get to Neverland–– second star to the right. But some days I've forgotten how to fly. I cling to my happy thoughts, memories forever preserved as a constellation in the stars: searching for fairies at the bottom of the garden, gathering seashells scattered along the shore, lazy summer afternoons spent cloud watching and blowing dandelions. I'll never forget. I can't.

I'm twenty years old today. Too old, way too old, but not old enough to stop believing.


Image: "A Matter of Time" By Kathleen Patrick

Silence

I’ve lost my voice. It drifted away, tempted by the wind, into the vast and dark universe. I try to call for it, but out of my mouth falls only silence; sad, lonely silence. I can feel words inside me, trapped in shackles; they’re burning on my tongue, ready to burst from my lungs.

My Muse hasn’t paid me a visit for a very very long time.


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